Baby the Rain Must Fall
by MaverickLover2
Summary: What happens when Bret Maverick falls in love and must decide between his new love and family?
1. The One Left Behind

Chapter 1 – The One Left Behind

"Whatta ya mean he's gone?"

He'd heard the words, and technically he knew exactly what they meant. He just didn't know what they meant. When he went to sleep last night at Althea's his brother had been here at the house in his room, asleep, he thought. When he returned to Ben's this afternoon Lily Mae gave him some kind of explanation that involved the words 'Bart', 'left today' and 'gone.'

"Why didn't he wait for me to get home?" Bret asked, and came as close to scowling as Lily Mae had ever seen.

"Why weren't you at home to begin with?" Lily Mae shot back at him, and Bret stared down at the floor. Once he'd started sleeping over at Althea Taylor's, Lily Mae had been out of sorts with him. Since that had been going on for several weeks, she'd been unhappy with him for quite a while. And now his brother had left for parts unknown without saying one word about going without him.

Well, he reasoned, what could he expect? Althea was their friend Fred Taylor's widow, and he and Bart had run a cattle drive for her not long ago. Along the way, and without expecting it to happen, she and Bret fell in love. By the time the drive was over and they were all back in Little Bend, Texas, Althea had asked him to move in with her, and for all intents and purposes he had.

Even stranger than that, Bart and Pappy had been involved in some kind of discussion or conflict or long-time-in-coming reconciliation that he had been excluded from. The exclusion was his own fault, he was told, because he wanted to be with the woman he loved and hadn't paid enough attention when Pappy tried to include him in whatever it was that was going on. For the first time Bret felt what Bart had mistakenly perceived his whole life – like the outsider, the kid with his face pressed up against the glass looking in on a happy family scene while being omitted from it. It was not a good feeling.

What made it worse was the fact that Bret knew what he was missing out on – the story of Pappy and their deceased mother, Belle Maverick; their entire history. When he asked to hear what was left in the tale Pappy had told him "No;" he couldn't hear the end if he'd missed the beginning. Bret had sighed in frustration and gone back to Althea's, where he'd been for the past two days. Until this afternoon. With his return to his Uncle Ben's house, the place of residence for all five of the Maverick men, he'd set off the current firestorm simply by asking where his brother was.

Just as Lily Mae was getting ready to yell at him again, something she'd done only once or twice before in almost twenty-five years, his father came around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. "Son," he said in greeting, and took up his normal seat at the supper table. This gave Lily Mae an excuse to dispense with Bret and fix Beauregard a plate. Soon Ben and Cousin Beau appeared, and Lily Mae could ignore him completely until everyone was finished eating. She didn't ask him if he wanted anything to eat and she didn't fix him a plate. Lily Mae really was mad at him.

"Can anybody please tell me where my brother went?" he pleaded. All he got was two Maverick heads shaking 'no' and a look of sympathy from his father.

"Bart didn't tell anyone where he was headed," Pappy finally explained. "He didn't want anyone to follow him."

"You mean he didn't want me to follow him." Bret wasn't happy about it, and the displeasure could be heard in his voice.

Pappy looked right at him and patted the seat next to him. "Come sit down, Bret. Join us for supper."

Disgruntled or no, Bret knew an order when he heard one, even when it was phrased as an invitation. He sat. Pappy placed a hand on his shoulder, and there was something akin to pity in his voice. "That's right, son, he didn't want you to follow him. He wanted you an' me to spend some time together without him around."

"Why?" Bret asked. That didn't sound like his brother.

Beauregard looked at his firstborn and it almost pained him to give Bret an answer. But answer him he would. "Bart said you need to put yourself first for once and quit worryin' about him. He can take care of himself."

Bret shook his head. "That's just it, Pappy. Bart thinks he can take care a himself. Then he goes off and gets into somethin' that takes both of us ta get him out of."

Uncle Ben injected a thought. "Less you're part bloodhound you ain't gonna find him, boy. You know how your brother is when he don't wanna be found."

That was all too true. Bart was better at hiding his whereabouts than anyone he'd ever run across. Especially if he'd disappeared back down into Mexico, although that was less likely now that the Federales were still on the lookout for 'Rory Emory,' the persona Bart had assumed when he rescued Doralice Donovan from a certain hanging.

"Well then, son, I don't know what to tell ya. I have no idea where he went. That's the way he wanted it. Last thing he was gonna do before he left was go up and see your ma. Maybe he left somethin' up there."

Bret got up from the table. "Thanks Pappy. That's where I'm goin'. Been too long since I was up there anyway." Without so much as a backward glance at Lily Mae Bret left the room, and soon after they heard the front door close. Pappy looked over at the housekeeper and sighed.

"Don't do no good to be mad at him, Lily Mae. Ya know ya can't out-stubborn him."

Lily Mae snorted and shook her head. "Doesn't mean I have to be nice to him, either, Mr. Beau. He knows how I feel about him stayin' over with Althea Taylor at night."

Pappy had to chuckle at that one. "He's not ten years old anymore, Lily. He's a grown man, and she's a widow woman. They're gonna do what they're gonna do."

Bentley spoke up at last. "You're spinnin' your wheels, Lily Mae. They're only slightly further up the evolutionary scale than dogs in heat. Only one part a him doin' any thinkin' right now, and it ain't his brain."

"Pa!" Beau admonished his father for speaking what everybody was thinking.

Beauregard reached across the table and patted his nephew's arm. "That's alright, Beau, your Pa's right. Bret's in love, whatever that means, and he's not usin' the sense God gave him. He'll work it out or get killed tryin'."

"Mr. Beau!" Lily Mae said and blushed

"You know what I mean, Lily. He'll come to his senses eventually. They always do." Beauregard thought about Bart and his marriage to Caroline Crawford, then amended his remark. "Almost always."

XXXXXXXX

Bret got the funniest felling as he rode up to the little family graveyard on the hill. Almost like Momma was up there waiting for him, and had been for a while. He left his horse outside the burial ground and walked towards the graves, momma's and Aunt Abby's. There were two things on momma's grave; one was a bouquet of dead flowers. The other shook him all the way down to his toes. It was momma's Bible, the one that Bart had carried in his saddlebags as long as he could remember. "What are you doin' here?" Bret asked no one in particular, and the wind rustled through the desert willow leaves in answer. He picked up the Bible and found the note from his brother inside.

' _I thought maybe you ought to have this for a while, Brother Bret,'_ the note read. _"I know you'll take good care of it. I've marked some things you might want to read, or not as the case may be. I'll be fine, and I promise to stay out of trouble so you can take care of just you for a while. Pappy told me about the night he tried to – well, you know what he tried to do. Thank God you stopped him. What I've never told you is I tried to do the same thing, one night down in Mexico. I understand a lot about Pappy now, and much more about you and me and why we are the way we are. He's always done the best he could for us, Bret, and that's what I'm tryin' to do for you now. Give that little lady all you've got; she deserves it, and you do too. I'll see you soon. Always your little brother, Love, Bart.'_

He folded the note up and put it between the pages of the Bible. He was stunned into silence. No wonder Bart never wanted to talk about Mexico. Bret finally understood, and couldn't imagine how desperate and alone his brother must have felt. And now Bart knew about Pappy. So much had changed in the last two or three years, and yet nothing had changed at all. He tucked the Bible under his arm and looked at Momma's marker. "You take care of him, Momma," he told her. "He rode off without me, and I can't stand the thought of him bein' alone out there. But he wants me to stay here with you for a while, and that's what I'm gonna do. So watch out for him, okay? Until I'm with him again?"

He put the Bible in his saddlebag and tipped his hat to his mother. "I'll be back soon. Remember what I asked?"

He rode down the hill from the graveyard but instead of turning towards the 'mansion', as Pappy called Ben's house, he headed for Althea's. Things had been in flux for weeks, with him torn first one way and then the other. It was time the two of them sat down and had a talk about what it was they wanted. If this was going to get any more serious than it already was, he needed to know. And it was time for them to make a decision about who was living where. He was tired of Lily Mae being mad at him.

.


	2. The Decision

Chapter 2 – The Decision

"Do you think it was wise to send him up to see Belle?" Ben asked once Lily Mae and his son were gone from the room.

"What else could I do? That's what Bart wanted. I'm sure he had a good reason for it."

Ben looked exasperated. "Are we ever gonna have any peace in this house? When everything's calm and nobody's tryin' to outfox the other one?"

"How long have you lived here, Ben? Have you ever had any a that?"

That was enough to break the mood, and Ben laughed sadly. "Nope, I guess you're right. No sense in startin' somethin' now we ain't never had before." He poured another cup of coffee for him and Beauregard. "Got any ideas about your nephew?"

A shake of the head. "I can't figure out what to do with mine, how am I gonna know what to do with yours?"

"I'm serious, Beau. All he does is eat, sleep, and stare out the window."

"How long has it been since he lost Georgia? Three, four months? He's still lost, Ben, you and I both know that. I'm beginnin' to think we're all cursed. Let's hope Bret doesn't lose his head and decide to marry that girl, cause it's the kiss of death if he does."

"Amen."

XXXXXXXX

It was a strange feeling, knowing that for the first time he was the one with Belle's Bible. Why had Bart left it for him? He knew how much the book meant to his brother, and he couldn't think of one good reason to leave it here in Little Bend. Unless . . . . . unless it was Bart's way of telling Bret he understood what his brother was going through with Althea. What had he said in the note? _'Give that_ _little lady all you've got; she deserves it, and you do too.'_

Before he could think of anything else, he looked up and realized he was home. At Althea's, he quickly corrected himself. But was it home and he just hadn't admitted it yet? Why was this so hard when it should be easy?

Bret climbed down wearily and tied his horse to the rail in front of the house. Nothing had gone right so far today and he had a real dread of his next conversation with Althea. And then the front door opened and all the sunshine in the world stepped out onto the porch. He felt the same jolt in his stomach that he'd felt the first time she'd laid her hand on his arm. What was this strange effect she had on him?

"Hi. You're back sooner than I expected." She smiled as she reached up to kiss his cheek. "How did things go with your brother?"

Oh yeah, Bart. "They didn't," he answered. "Bart's gone."

"What?" she gasped. "What happened?"

"Sorry, didn't mean it that way. He left the ranch sometime this mornin'."

"Oh thank goodness," she exclaimed. "I mean . . . . that he's alright, you know."

"Yeah."

"Where did he go?" Her tone of voice was normal again after he'd scared her near to death.

"Nobody seems to know. Or if they do, they're not tellin' me. He left me a note, tellin' me not to worry about him."

Althea smiled again. That sounded like Bart. "But you're worried anyway."

He nodded but still looked unhappy. "It's what I do."

' _Don't I know it,'_ she thought to herself. "How about some supper? I've got a big pot of beef stew on the stove. It's Lily Mae's recipe."

That should have made him smile. Lily Mae's stew was one of his favorites. But then, anything Lily Mae cooked was one of his favorites. "Thanks, but no. I'm not hungry."

"Alright, let's hear it."

"What?" he asked, sincerely not knowing what she was talking about.

"Whatever it is that's bothering you."

"Nothin's botherin' me."

"Then why aren't you hungry? Did you eat over at your uncle's house? Is Lily Mae secretly feeding you behind my back?" she smiled; it was meant as a joke.

"Come over here and sit down," he said without laughing. He sat in one of the rockers on the porch and pulled her down to sit on his lap. Then leaned forward and planted a kiss on her.

"Oh dear. Is it that bad?" By now Althea knew his habits. When he started out with a kiss, there was probably something unpleasant coming.

"Lily Mae didn't feed me. Lily Mae is barely speakin' to me. She thinks I've got no business bein' over here ruinin' your reputation."

"My - oh, for goodness sake. Is that what all this is about? You've been unhappy for days because of Lily Mae?"

"I haven't been unhappy for days." As if to prove himself right he kissed her again, this time like he meant it. And smiled when he was through.

"Yes, you have. Ever since the night you came home and told me your father and brother were doing something they'd excluded you from. That's when it started. What was all that about?"

He hesitated to tell her everything, and then remembered what Bart had written. _'Give the little lady all you've got.'_ Althea deserved the truth, and all of it. "Pappy finally sat down to tell us the story of him and Momma, and our lives in Texas before Momma died. I was supposed to be part of it; he meant to tell us both. I didn't understand that and I didn't make time for him. So he told our history to Bart. When I realized what was goin' on I asked to be included, but Pappy said no, if I hadn't heard the start I couldn't hear the finish. I already know part of it, but not all of it. He left me out, Althea. He left me out. That's never happened before."

She put her arms around his neck and stared into the depths of those black eyes that looked back at her. "Didn't your momma ever tell you the story?"

He shook his head. "No. She died when I was seven years old. I know they had quite a history; I guess she thought I was too young to hear it. It's not that. Pappy acts like I insulted him, because I wanted to be here with you. I guess it's time for me to make a decision. Do I keep goin' back over there to stop Pappy from climbin' all over me, or do I move in here with you, lock, stock, and barrel?"

She sat up straight, letting go of her hold on him. "That's your decision, Bret. You know I want you here with me."

"I know. And you know why I've hesitated."

"And you've been excluded anyway. Your brother's not there anymore. You can still see your family, and they're welcome here anytime. What difference does it make?"

She was right. He knew she was right. He loved her, even if he hadn't said the words. And she loved him. What was he waiting for? Pappy's approval? His blessing? That was never going to happen. He sighed, then looked at her again. She was beautiful and full of life, and he made up his mind. "I have to go back to Uncle Ben's."

She bowed her head, assuming the wrong thing. "Alright."

And then he made her look back up and smile. "To get my belongin's."


	3. Movin' Out

Chapter 3 – Movin' Out

It was late by the time Bret got back to the Maverick residence and the only one there, albeit in bed asleep, was Lily Mae. Bret went straight upstairs and began packing his clothes, feeling like a kid running away from home. Before he was finished, he sensed someone watching him and looked up to see Lily Mae leaning against his open door.

"Packin', I see," she said, stating the obvious.

"Yes, ma'am."

"That means you're leavin'."

"Yes, ma'am."

"That all you got to say for yourself?"

Bret stopped and stood tall, looking at the woman that was as close to a mother as he had. "I didn't figure you'd want to hear anything else from me."

"Hmmmpfff. You're probably right." She stood there for a minute before she spoke again. "Movin' in with Althea?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Stop that right now, Bret Maverick. You're still not too big to turn over my knee."

There was no response from him this time. He kept packing and she kept watching him. "You're gonna break your daddy's heart, ya know."

"He'll get over it."

"Do you remember the night you had to ride to this very house to stop him from rantin' and ravin'?"

That made him halt what he was doing. "He wasn't just rantin' and ravin', Lily Mae. He was lookin' for his guns."

There was a much softer tone in her voice when she replied. "I know."

The man that stood before her seemed to shrink into the little boy that had run frantically to his uncle that night. "I was terrified that we'd get back to the house and he'd be . . . . . . . gone. I walked around for years worryin' that he'd try again someday. Why do you think he decided not to, Lily?"

A smile spread slowly across her face. "Two very good reasons. You and your brother."

"We wouldn't have stopped him that night. Why'd we stop him later?"

"He wasn't in his right mind that night, Bret. Once he settled back down after Mr. Ben got some food and some sleep into him, he realized what he'd have to give up, an he couldn't do it."

Bret sat down on the bed. He looked sad and troubled. "That's not exactly true, Lily Mae. I was there, remember? As much as you and Ben didn't want me to understand what was goin' on, I did. It was Bart that stopped him, wasn't it? He saw so much of Momma in Bart that he couldn't go through with it." He sighed and looked up at Lily. "I think I've always known that. I wasn't enough reason to stop him, but Bart was. Maybe that's why I tried so hard to please him, to be everything that he wanted in a son. So he'd love me as much as he loved my brother."

She walked over and sat down next to the little boy in the man's body. When she reached over and took his hand in hers, he knew that she wasn't really upset with him. "Your brother spent his whole life wantin' your pappy to love him like he loved you. Good thing ya love each other."

"How'd we manage that, Lily?"

"Your momma, honey, your momma. She saw to it. She was one hell of a lady, your momma."

What Bret said next was barely audible. "I miss her every day, Lily." He leaned over and rested his head on her shoulder.

"I know you do, baby. You've done real well over the years, tryin' to be momma and poppa to that brother a yours. He don't know what it's cost you to do it, neither. But I do. I've always known about Mary Alice. She came an talked to me about you an her runnin' away when you was fifteen, and how you backed out at the last minute cause of not wantin' to leave Bart. Don't you look at me like that; I know how to keep a secret."

Bret sighed again. "And every time I thought he'd be okay – "

She laughed and Bret sat up straight. "He turned into Bart again. I know. Thank God you got that backbone a steel from your momma. Maybe things'll be different this time. Your daddy told him about that night, ya know. That night he tried . . . . . . anyway, your brother knows now."

"I know. He left this for me, along with Momma's Bible." He pulled out Bart's note and handed it to the housekeeper. She read it and shook her head in dismay.

"I don't know whether he's got more sense than your pappy, or less. Well, I'm goin' back to bed so you can finish your packin'." She got up off the bed and he caught her hand before she left.

"Does that mean you're not mad at me anymore?"

She nodded her head and a sheepish grin appeared on her face. "I'm not mad at you, boy. I never was. I was just . . . . . . . disgruntled. But it's plain to see that you care about the gal, and you sure deserve some happiness. Just do one thing, Bret. If it turns out ya love her, don't let anything come between you and her. Not this time. Okay, honey?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said and kissed her hand.

XXXXXXXX

The discussion was once again their boys as the elder brothers Maverick rode home from Little Bend and another night of poker. Beau had ridden on ahead, as he tended to do these days, leaving Bentley and Beauregard to make the trip together.

"Do ya think he'll go live with her?" Ben asked his brother for about the tenth time.

"Yeah, Ben, I do. He's crazy about her and he's a Maverick. Not much else he can do. Whether I want him to or not."

"Alright, Beauregard, just what do you have against the girl?"

Beau shot a look at his brother that could only be described as frustrated. "Nothin', Ben. I don't have a thing against Althea. She seems like a great little gal. It's Bret I'm worried about. He's just not ready to commit to one woman."

"Why not?" came back to him from his best friend. "He's surely old enough. Bart and Beau were both younger'n him and they got . . . . . . seriously involved." Even after all these years Ben still had an aversion to saying the worried 'married.'

"Yeah, an just like you an me they got to sow some wild oats before they did –but Bret's never done that. Oh, there was that thing when he was just a kid with Mary Alice – that stopped before it got started, thanks be. But really gone out to see what's out in the world for him – that boys always been way too level-headed for that. Or too wrapped up in one rescue attempt or another. Maybe we need to find somethin' to send the two of 'em off on. Him an Beau. Where's a good ol fashioned damsel in distress when ya need one?"

The last remark made even Ben laugh. "Maybe there's a big ol poker tournament somewhere."

"Naw, Ben we'd a heard about it before now. We need a rescue mission. Where's that youngest son a mine when we need him?" And they both laughed.

Somewhere, unbeknownst to them, Bart Maverick wasn't laughing.


	4. Hopes, Dreams and Nightmares

Chapter 4 – Hopes, Dreams and Nightmares

"Everything?"

That was the question that Beauregard asked Lily Mae when he and Ben arrived home and found his oldest son had been and gone. It was the response to Lily Mae's statement that began, "Bret was here and packed up everything he had and left with it."

"Every last thing," she answered. "Coffee's ready. Three cups?"

"Please, Lily. I need your advice right now." Beauregard sat down heavily in the chair.

Ben quietly took the other chair and asked Lily while she poured, "Beau?"

"Went upstairs twenty minutes ago."

"Ah," his father replied. "To see if any of the dust outside has moved since he saw it last."

"He's hurtin', Mr. Ben."

"I know he is, Lily Mae. I just don't know what to do about it." Ben rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "How'd they all get so messed up?"

"They're not all messed up," Beauregard finally remarked. He picked up the coffee cup and took a swallow. It was hot and rich and it felt good sliding into his stomach. "One's grieving and the other's in love. And I'm not sure about Bart but he might be the only one without a problem right now."

"Whatever you're inclined to do about Bret, I have one word of advice. Don't."

Beau looked at Lily Mae skeptically. "Now how do you know I was gonna do anything about Bret?"

The housekeeper and trusted friend laughed. "Your name still Beauregard Maverick?"

He nodded his head sheepishly. "Guilty."

Ben looked up from his coffee cup and asked, "Any ideas about what I can do with mine?"

Lily Mae nodded and drank her own coffee before she spoke. "When you all get up tomorrow, or rather today, get that boy a yours and go somewhere. Austin. San Antone. Houston. Somewhere. Anywhere. Just father and son. Get him outta the house. Give him somethin' to think about besides how much he misses her."

Ben stood up from the table and kissed Lily Mae on the cheek. "You're right. It was dead center in front a me and I never saw it."

"Course I'm right." Lily smiled and watched Ben set his empty cup down and leave the room whistling.

"Now, what about me?"

She turned back to the problem at hand. "You don't make things easy, ya know."

"Funny, Isabelle used to tell me the same thing."

"Well, Mr. Beau, she was right. What were you gonna do?"

"Go over to Althea's house and have a good talk with him."

Lily Mae laughed and shook her head. "Wrong. I'll go over and invite 'em to dinner. BOTH of 'em. And you won't say a word about him movin' out. It wasn't easy for him, ya know; he thinks you're mad at him. You need to make sure he knows you're not. And by the way, he's a smart man. He knows why you didn't go lookin' for your guns after that one night. It's about time you let the poor boy know just how much you love him. Not his brother, him. He needs ya a whole lot right now."

The words Bart left him with rang in his ears. _'I think you need to spend some time with your firstborn son. Right now he's the one that needs your help.'_ Beauregard reached across the table and patted Lily Mae's arm. "You're a wise woman, dear, dear Lily Mae. If I was twenty years younger . . . . . . . "

"You wouldn't do a dang thing, Beau Maverick. Ain't nobody ever gonna replace Miz Belle. Now go to bed. Get. I've got cookin' to do and an invitation to deliver."

Beauregard displayed the Maverick charm and grinned at her as he got up from the table and headed for his bedroom. "Ah, the bachelor life for me," he said as he climbed the stairs.

"Bachelor life, bull," she muttered. "Won't be no different than always. You sure ruined him for everybody else, Miz Belle."

XXXXXXXX

"Bret! Bret, honey, wake up!" Althea called urgently. Beside her in the bed he was moaning and rolling around, and in between the moans he'd murmur, "Pappy, no! No guns, Pappy!" She finally grabbed his shoulder and shook it, continuing until he stopped tossing and turning and opened his eyes.

"Huh? What? What's wrong?" he questioned sleepily.

"You tell me," she answered. "Were you having a nightmare?"

"I don't know. I'm not dreamin' now, am I? I'm really here?" He rolled towards her in the bed and gathered her into his arms. She snuggled closer until there was no space between them and her head rested on his chest.

"Mmhmm. You're really here. Happy?"

Happy wasn't the right word. He was content, and fulfilled, and at peace. At least when he was awake. Asleep, his psyche seemed to have other ideas. He hadn't been honest with Althea; he remembered the nightmare perfectly. It was the night his father had looked for his guns, irrational and in pain, so that he could . . . . . . . . . . . . _'Say it,'_ he thought to himself. _'The night he was gonna kill himself.'_

"What?" he finally asked. "Oh yeah, happy. Yes, ma'am, I'm happy." He kissed her hair, that beautiful cascade of copper curls, then wrapped his hand in it and tilted her head back so that he could kiss her full on the lips. Some kiss it was; full of the tenderness and desire that was so very present the first time he'd kissed her. Finally she was here in his arms, in their bed, and there was no one and nothing in between them. And as he kissed her again he was glad for the nightmare, glad that she'd woken him and glad that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. "I love you, Althea," he murmured in her ear, and she smiled and touched his face.

"I love you, too, Bret Maverick," she responded. "Welcome home."

XXXXXXXX

Beauregard lay in bed for a long time thinking, watching the light begin to streak across the sky as the sun rose and turned everything from black night to glorious day. He had too much on his mind to sleep, too many thoughts running through his head, all boiling down to one cogent belief: He loved his boys more than he'd ever thought possible. His boys. They were long past being boys; grown men, with lives and loves of their own. But they would always be his boys, no matter their age. What a gift Isabelle had given him, and he'd tried his best to make her proud of them.

He knew she'd be displeased that they were gamblers, just like their old pappy, but then she'd always known how they both adored their father. Neither one had ever expressed a desire to be anything but just exactly like him, and he was secretly pleased that they were. And yet they were very much their own men. Bart was quick to temper and adventurous, with a heart that defended every underdog he met. Bret was quieter, steadier and more stoic, more likely to out-think someone than out-punch them. Of course he didn't love them the same; they were different people.

But he loved them equally. And, it seemed, he had caused them equal amounts of pain. Not intentionally, but caused it all the same. Both of them thought he loved the other one more. How had he lived all this time, foolish old man that he was, and not seen it? He hoped it wasn't too late. After all, there was a time that he thought Bart had built a wall between them so strong that nothing could ever tear it down, and yet Bart had said "I love you" before he left. Was there still a chance with his firstborn? He certainly hoped so; he had a lot to make up for. He finally drifted off to sleep; having settled in his mind once and for all that he would make it right with Bret, no matter what it took.


	5. A Sweet Old Man

Chapter 5 – A Sweet Old Man

"So you'll be there? Tonight at six o'clock?"

Bret looked over at Althea, who smiled and nodded her head. "We'll be there, Lily Mae. And tell him we said thanks."

'"It'll just be you three. Mr. Ben and Beau got up and left for Houston this mornin'."

"Was there a reason for that besides the obvious? Have I missed somethin' important?" There was a concerned tone in the question.

"Nope. Just tryin' to get young Mr. Beau to think a somethin' besides his loss. Thought maybe a trip outta town might help."

Bret nodded and smiled to himself. He was sure Lily was behind the idea. Good, at least that meant there was one head that was thinking in the house. There was no doubt in his mind that she was the inspiration for the dinner invitation, too. At least it meant that Pappy was listening to someone besides himself.

He took her hand and walked her out to the wagon, then helped her on board. "Thanks, Lily. I know you're behind this. How's he doin'?"

Lily didn't have to see his face to know his question was sincere. "He's alright. He really wants this to work, Bret. He is your Pa, after all."

"I know, Lily Mae. I want it to work, too."

"See you tonight, boy."

He grinned and backed away quickly, expecting her to swat at him. Which she did. "Yes, ma'am."

He stood on the porch and watched the wagon head down the road, back towards the mansion. Before it was completely out of sight, he felt Althea's arms circling his body and sensed her behind him. "Everything alright?"

"I don't know. At least he's makin' an effort. Guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"How about a ride? It's beautiful outside. I can change clothes in five minutes."

He turned around to face her and kissed the top of her head. "That sounds good. I'll saddle the horses."

"Be right back. And Bret?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you."

XXXXXXXX

"I'd forgotten just how big this place is," he remarked when they'd been out for over an hour. "What are you gonna do with it?"

"You mean what are we gonna do with it?"

He pulled his horse up under a bur oak tree and corrected her correction. "No, I mean what are you gonna do with it? This spread is yours, Althea. What you do is up to you. I'm not a rancher, I'm a poker player."

"But I want your ideas and opinions, Bret."

"Ideas and opinions are one thing. Decisions are somethin' else. Those are up to you."

"So you're still going to play poker for a living?"

"That's what I do, Althea."

"But Bret – "

"It's not open for debate."

"I was just going to say that you don't have to play poker anymore."

Ha laughed, amused at what it sounded like she was suggesting. Maybe he was wrong? "That's an interestin' sentiment. I think I'd get tired of bein' poor and broke all the time, though. Am I missin' somethin' here?" Bret got down off his horse and helped Althea off hers. They walked over to the oak tree and sat underneath it, passing Bret's canteen back and forth.

Althea shook her head. "I just meant you could play when you wanted to and not have to play to buy food or pay for a hotel room. And I do want your ideas and opinions about the ranch. I'm not sure I can make a go of it without some guidance."

"Well, the expert in the family is Bart, but since he's gone I'd say get yourself a good foreman and listen to what he has to say. He'll be able to handle most of it. That's the best piece of advice I can give ya."

"Any ideas where I can start?"

"Yeah," he answered, "go talk to George Walker. Papa George has been in this valley forever. He'll be able to tell you who to talk to and who to avoid. That's exactly where I'd start. Papa George."

"That's a good idea. I can spend some time with Winnie while I'm there. She's still suffering the after-effects of the twins being sick."

"How're they doin'?"

"They're fine and back to being themselves. Winnie's still worn out. I don't know how she keeps up with them. Think we should head back yet?"

"What time is it?" Bret asked, pulling his watch out of his pocket. "Four o'clock already? Do the days always go by this fast?"

"Don't you know?"

"Uh-uh. I'm usually asleep all day. Mavericks don't get up while the sun's out. This could be a whole new way of livin' for me."

Althea grabbed a handful of grass and threw it at him. "Do you melt in the sunlight?"

"I just might."

She got up and ran to her horse, with him scrambling after her. "Last one home has to groom the horses!" she called teasingly, and he jumped up on his gelding and took off after her. He caught her hallway back and passed her, laughing and whooping the whole way. When she rode up to the barn breathless, they were both still chuckling. "No fair!" she cried.

"Because you lost?" he laughed.

"Of course!"

He reached over and took the reins from her. "Did you think I'd make you do it?"

She threw her arms around him and proceeded to plant wet, sloppy kisses all over his face. "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! Yes, I did think you'd make me. Now I can go in and get all dolled up for dinner with your father."

"Don't you dare. My pappy's a dirty old man, and he sure doesn't need any encouragement. You could go over in a flour sack and he'd still be drivin' you crazy. You go over there lookin' beautiful and he'll make my life hell, chasin' him away from you."

"Your father? He's such a sweet old man!"

Bret almost dropped the reins he was laughing so hard. "You haven't talked to any of the girls at Maude's, have you?"

"Of course not, silly. Why would I?"

"Because they'd all have a different opinion of Pappy than you do, that's why."

"I don't care. They have a different relationship with him than I do."

Bret couldn't help but laugh to himself. "I certainly hope so," he muttered under his breath.


	6. Brandy and Backslaps

Chapter 6 – Brandy and Backslaps

The buggy pulled up in front of the house and Beauregard peered out the window through the curtains. "They'll see you," Lily Mae hissed at him.

"I don't care," Beauregard hissed back. And in a normal tone of voice he added, "I got a right to look out the window," and then in the next instant sucked in his breath as he caught site of Althea. "Well, I'll give him this – he sure picked a beauty."

"That she is," commented Lily Mae as she walked towards the front door. Bret had no more than touched the door when Lily Mae pulled it open. "Since when do you knock?" she asked.

"Since when do you stand right behind the door?" he replied.

Lily stepped aside and Bret pushed the door the rest of the way open. Althea crossed the threshold and Beauregard once again caught his breath. He hadn't seen a woman that beautiful since – well, since Isabelle. She'd done something with her hair so that part of it was swept up and part of it was long and curly, and all of it was a striking copper color.

Bret slapped his father good-naturedly on the arm. "Put your eyes back in your head, Pappy."

"Uh, Mrs. Taylor, so charming to see you again," Beau told her and kissed her hand. He took her arm and escorted her into the main room, then seated her in one of the chairs around the fireplace, which was burning just bright enough to give a nice toasty feeling to the room.

"Althea, please Mr. Maverick," she told him.

"Beauregard, my dear."

"Some things never change," Bret muttered under his breath, just loud enough that Lily Mae heard him. She shook her head and walked back to the kitchen.

"Would you like some brandy, Althea? It might help warm you up on a night like this," Beau offered in his best oh-so-charming voice.

"Since when do you have brandy in this house?" Bret asked suspiciously.

"Since I decided we should have some for our guests," his father answered smugly. "Do you want some, Bret?"

Bret sighed. Already this evening was headed south. "No, Pappy, I would not, thank you. Althea?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Mav – Beauregard. But I would love some coffee if you have that."

Lily Mae appeared magically with a tray, a coffee pot, and cups. She poured three cups of coffee and handed them out, then disappeared back into the kitchen. "What is that heavenly smell?" Althea asked as she took a sip from her cup.

Bret sniffed the air. "Let's see - pot roast, mashed potatoes, and Lily Mae's biscuits. With fresh marmalade jam on the side."

"The boy lives to eat,' Beau remarked, and even Bret laughed. "And he never gains an ounce."

"Not true, Pappy. When Bart and I first got back – remember? I gained weight cause I was eatin' Lily Mae's food every meal. Better than lookin' like a scarecrow the way Bart does."

"Don't criticize your brother, he's not here to defend himself."

"Well, he is skinny as a rail. Course it might help if he ever ate." Bret thought briefly about their differences and it dawned on him their appetites were about the biggest difference they had. _'Almost_ _like looking in a mirror sometimes,'_ he reflected, and then realized the conversation had gone on without him.

" . . . . . . . and that's when everything changed," Pappy was just finishing up.

Althea laughed. "I don't imagine burned chicken feathers would be very appetizing," she remarked, and Bret knew it was the 'setting the chicken on fire' story again.

"He can eat enough when he wants to," Lily Mae added as she entered the room. "Speaking of food, supper's ready."

Beauregard offered Althea his arm and she winked at Bret, then smiled at Beau. "Such a handsome escort," she added, and Pappy practically beamed.

Bret rolled his eyes and followed them to the table. There were only three places set. "Lily Mae, come in here and join us," Beau practically bellowed.

"Already ate," came the quick reply. "Y'all enjoy supper."

And they did, with Beauregard doing his best to keep up a running conversation with Bret and Althea. When the chatter finally died down, Pappy cleared his throat and his firstborn wondered what was coming. "Son, I was hoping that you and me could have lunch on Sunday. Maybe go up to visit your Ma. There's some things I'd like to talk to you about. Can ya do that?"

Two sets of eyes looked expectantly at Bret; one encouraging, one pleading. He took but a moment to answer in the affirmative. "Sure, Pappy. I can ride over while Althea's at church. You don't mind, do you?" The question was directed at his lady-love.

"Not in the least. Can you drive me to church? Then I'll go on home with Winnie and the boys and you can come pick me up when you and Beauregard are done."

"Sure. Sounds like a good idea. I'll be here about eleven, Pappy. Maybe we can go see Momma first and eat later?"

"That's fine, son. Whatever you want."

Of course, there was dessert – and the rest of the evening passed gently in front of the fireplace in the big room. More coffee was served and the three of them chatted pleasantly about nothing that could be offensive to anyone present; while Bret's mind raced trying to stay three steps ahead of his father to avoid topics potentially disturbing. Pappy was on his best behavior, however, and raised nothing upsetting or embarrassing. Soon it was late and Althea yawned while laughing at the newest brother/cousin tale, about the time the three boys built a raft and almost drowned while trying to keep it from drifting too far downstream.

"I think somebody's tired," Bret commented when Pappy finally reached the end of the story. "There's too many of those tales to hear 'em all in one night."

"Are they true?" Althea asked seriously.

"Every single one of 'em," Beauregard answered. "I got enough stories for a book."

"That's a scary thought," Bret stated humorously. "Who'd wanna read about us? We're just normal, everyday Texas boys."

"I'm not sure about that, Mr. Maverick," Althea remarked before yawning again. "I'm sorry, I think it's time to go home. I can't keep my eyes open. Thank you for a pleasant evening, Beauregard. Next time it must be at our house."

Beau stiffened at the reference to 'our house' but tried not to react. He knew Althea hadn't meant to remind him that he and Bret no longer lived under the same roof. "I'd like that," he heard himself say, and was rewarded with a big smile.

"Then how about next week sometime? Monday, Tuesday, you pick the day." From the look on Althea's face, she was serious. Bret was unsure how Pappy would respond, but to his surprise Beau remained cordial.

"How about Wednesday? Ben and Beau should be back by then, and Lily Mae won't be left alone."

Althea added quickly, "Lily Mae is welcome to come with you. I bet she's got stories, too."

Beauregard laughed and nodded his head. "I'll see if I can convince her."

All three stood and Beau walked them to the door. It was an odd feeling, walking his oldest to the front door. Not something one gets easily used to. "Thank you, Beauregard, for a lovely time. We'll see you soon," and Althea reached over and kissed him on the cheek. Pappy smiled and slapped Bret on the back.

"Goodnight, Althea, Bret. I'll see you Sunday, boy." And he closed the door.


	7. Love in the Moonlight

Chapter 7 – Love in the Moonlight

They sat in the kitchen and drank the rest of the coffee. "How'd I do?" Beauregard asked Lily Mae, and a smile creased her lips.

"Ya did good, Mr. Beau. I'm real proud of ya. You were your normal, charming self. Yes, sir, ya did good."

"I was worried there a couple times, Lily. When she talked about 'our house,' it . . . . . . . it was hard to hear that. And to watch him walk out that door and know he was goin' someplace else . . . . . not just someplace to sleep. Someplace that he lives."

She reached over and patted his arm. "I know. But it gets easier."

"Does it? I know they don't really live here anymore . . . . . . it was just so final. Like he's her property."

"That's not the way she means it. I know Althea. She truly loves him, no matter that we think it was too quick."

"WE! AHA! YOU THINK SO TOO!" Beauregard had gotten Lily to admit her real feelings out loud.

"But not for the same reason, Mr. Beau. I think Bret's ready, I just don't think Althea is. Too quick after losin' Fred and the baby. Didn't give herself enough time to grieve proper. And you know what happens when ya do that."

"So they'll either make it work or . . . . . . . . . "

"Yep, Bret's gonna get his heart broke."

XXXXXXXX

"See? He was the perfect gentleman."

Bret thought about that for a minute. "Yes. Yes, he was. And that's exactly what worries me."

"What is there to be worried about?" Althea hadn't been raised by Beauregard Maverick; she was a babe in the woods when it came to understanding him.

"He's up to somethin'."

"Honestly, I've never seen anyone so suspicious of their father before."

Bret shook his head. "I've had a lot more years with him than you have. And if Bart was here he'd tell ya the same thing. Somethin's goin' on in that head a his."

"If we ever have children, I hope they're not that suspicious of you."

He heard her say it, but he was too busy thinking about his father to catch the remark. It would come back to haunt both of them somewhere down the road.

XXXXXXXX

"Thanks, Pa. It feels good to be outta the house."

Bentley and Beau were riding back from Houston, having spent the last three days in the city. They were tired and hungry, dusty and thoroughly ready to go home, but both were feeling much better than they had when they left Little Bend. It had been a non-stop three days of gambling, eating and moving from saloon to saloon and back to a different saloon. Beau won at poker and promptly went to his father's tailor in Houston and ordered two new coats.

Ben kept his son so busy that Beau didn't have time to think about anything, even the loss of his wife and what it had done to him emotionally. Beau did things he hadn't done in months; played poker for twenty-four hours straight, watched the sun come up and go down on the same day, ate an entire meal plus dessert, and laugh. He was smiling now, even though they were on the way home.

"Pa, how did you do it? How'd you manage when Ma died?"

Ben shook his head. It had been a long time ago, and something he really didn't try too hard to remember. "I don't know, Beau, but I had somethin' you don't have. I had a son to worry about. And Lily Mae was around most of the time. Whenever I started to go the wrong way she was there to set me straight. You need somethin' to keep you goin' like that."

Beau nodded. He'd been thinking that for a while now. "I know. You probably won't like it, but I need to go back to Silver Creek. I've got a life there, a purpose. Jody can't run the place alone and have any kinda life, and she deserves one a those. I won't stay forever, but for now that's where I need to be. Does that make any sense to you?"

They rode for another few minutes before Ben answered his boy. "You're right, I don't like it. But I certainly understand it. If that's what you need to do then by God, you go do it. And when you don't need to be there anymore, you come on back to me. I'm not goin' anywhere."

So it was decided, Beau was going back to Silver Creek. Ben sighed. Just him and Beauregard alone in the big house again. Oh, joy.

XXXXXXXX

It was going to take some getting used to, this sleeping at night and staying awake during the day. So much of his life had been spent exactly opposite that he found himself more often than not prowling the house in the dark, trying his best not to wake Althea. He loved being in bed with her, holding her as she slept, feeling her roll into his arms at night, watching the rise and fall of her breath. But he could only lay like that for so long, and then he had to get up and move around before he lost his mind.

It was in the middle of the night that he missed Bart the most. Many a night they'd been playing poker, drinking coffee and talking about anything and everything, and for the first time in a long while he had no idea where his brother was or what he was doing. And it still bothered him, the way Bart had left without so much as a 'goodbye.' He understood the rationale, but he didn't have to like it.

Tonight he sat in one of the big, overstuffed chairs in the front room and smoked a cigar. He liked sitting in the dark, with moonlight coming in the front window casting shadows. Sometimes his thoughts turned to Momma, and that's where his subconscious was headed tonight. Pappy had suggested going up to see the grave, but that was more of a formality to Bret than anything else. Momma was with him, in his heart and his head, every day of his life. In some ways Bart was lucky that he was so young when she died; he didn't realize as much as Bret did just what they were missing.

So he thought about her. A while back Bart had asked him to talk about Momma, and he recalled most of what he'd told his brother. _'I remember her hands, and how soft and gentle they were. How she'd run her fingers down your face, then cup your chin in her hand. And look at you with those dark eyes that lit up like Christmas mornin' . . . . . . . and her voice. She could make you feel like the luckiest person on earth because she was talkin' to ya . . . . . she could cut Pappy to ribbons with just a word. She didn't do that often, but when she did . . . . . . and her singin' . . . . . she had a beautiful voice for singin'. If I listen real hard, I can still hear it.'_

He was deep in thought and didn't hear her come in. She didn't say anything, just touched his face, almost like momma used to. Only not at all like that. He stared up at her; her copper hair shimmered in the moonlight. He'd finished his cigar and his hands were empty; she reached down and took one of them and led him back to bed, where he made love to her and then fell into a deep sleep wrapped in her arms.


	8. Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down

Chapter 8 – Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down

Sunday morning Bret took Althea to church in the buggy and then drove over to Uncle Ben's house. He was surprised to find all three Mavericks in residence awake and functioning at this awful time of the day. "Come on in and have some coffee," Lily Mae offered as she met him at the door.

"What's goin' on?" Bret asked as he followed her back to the kitchen.

"Oh, nothin' unusual. Mr. Ben and Beauregard are runnin' around causin' trouble and Beau is packin'."

"Packin'? Is he leavin'?" There was surprise in his voice. Beau packing was not expected.

"I'll let him tell ya himself."

Bret looked up from his coffee cup to find his cousin standing at the table. "Hello, Bret."

"Hey, Beau. What's goin' on?"

"Not much. I'm goin' back to Montana." Beau sat down at the table and Lily Mae handed him a cup of coffee. "Comments?"

Bret shook his head. "Nope. You gotta do what's best for you. If that's it, then I'm all for it."

Beau let out an audible sigh. "Thanks. I appreciate the support." He took a swallow of coffee and then looked at Lily Mae with regret. "Lily, can't I talk you into comin' with me? Nobody in Montana makes decent coffee, no matter how many times I try to teach 'em."

Lily Mae laughed and shook her head. "Too cold up there. Besides, I know two men that'd starve if I left."

Peace was shattered by the sound of voices coming down the stairs arguing. "I don't care what you think, Beauregard, this is MY son we're talkin' about."

"Bentley, if ya weren't so damn stubborn – " The conversation abruptly ceased as the elder brothers rounded the corner into the kitchen and were faced with dismayed looks from their boys. "Oh, hello, son," Beauregard hastily added.

"Pappy. You and Uncle Ben disagree about somethin'?"

Beauregard grinned sheepishly and shook his head. "Just a minor difference of opinion."

His namesake spoke up. "Didn't sound so minor to me. What am I doin' wrong this time?" There was both sadness and resignation in the question.

Ben laid his hand on his son's shoulder. "Nothin', Beau. You're doin' nothin' wrong."

"Aha. So all that yellin' we heard?"

Pappy tried to sweep the disagreement under the rug. "We weren't yellin'. Just havin' a . . . . . a lively exchange of ideas."

"About me?" Beau asked the question with a sad smile.

"Yes . . . . . no . . . . . . well, sorta." The answer came from his father. Beauregard said nothing.

"Pappy, I heard your voice in this 'exchange of ideas.' Were you stickin' your nose into Beau's business again?"

Beauregard took a seat at the table and waited for Lily Mae to pour coffee for him and Ben before speaking. "Just offering a different perspective on things."

"Aha. And what would that be?"

Beauregard spoke reluctantly. "Alright, if you must know, I think Beau should stay here a little longer."

Bret scrutinized his father with one of those 'let's hear the rest of it' looks. "And why would that be, Pa?" Oops. Bret hadn't called his father 'Pa' for a long time. At the very least he was exasperated with Pappy over the whole conversation.

"If you must know . . . . . . . the thought of Beau leavin' while he's still hurtin' so bad is killin' my brother."

Beau looked at his father. "Is that true, Pa? Why didn't you say somethin' when we talked about it?"

Ben turned his chair to face his son. "Because I want you to do what you feel the need to do. I'm not the one that's lost and alone, that's you. If goin' back to Silver Creek is what you need, then that's what I want you to do. Despite what my brother thinks."

Beauregard held his head up and cleared his throat. "So shoot me because I don't wanna see my brother in pain. No disrespect to you, nephew, your daddy's hurtin' because you're hurtin'. That's what happens when ya have children. Isn't it, Bentley?"

Ben sighed and nodded slowly. "Yes, Beauregard, that's what happens. But I still want him to do whatever makes him feel better. You understand, son?"

A look of peace spread across Beau's furrowed brow, and he reached out to put a hand on his father's arm. "Yeah, Pa, I do." Then he turned to the man he was named after. "And I understand you too, Uncle. No hard feelin's?"

Beauregard smiled. "None, boy. Go finish packin'. Bret, you ready to go visitin'?"

"Long as I can borrow a horse," his son answered.

XXXXXXXX

They rode slowly up the hill, father and son, to the beautiful desert willow tree that spread its branches over the graveyard. It was obvious someone had been here since the day Beauregard sent his son to Isabelle's grave; there were fresh flowers on Abigail's grave today. Bret assumed it was his cousin; Uncle Ben didn't come up here often.

Both men dismounted under the willow tree and walked solemnly toward the graves. There was one thing that none of the Maverick men disagreed on, and that was the attitude they had about this piece of Maverick land. Reverential, almost sacred to all of them, there were no arguments or disputes of any sort when here. Beauregard let out a long sigh, and Bret looked at him questioningly. 'What's wrong, Pappy?"

Beau shook his head. The things on his mind recently didn't need to be discussed with his son.

"Come on, somethin's botherin' you."

Beauregard crouched down by Isabelle's marker and brushed the dirt off of it. "I shoulda been here with your ma a long time ago."

Bret reached down and laid a hand on his father's shoulder. He knew how many years Beau had been waiting to join his wife in this spot. "Don't even talk like that."

"Oh, I didn't mean that. Just that there must be some reason I'm still here, but I'll be danged if I know what it is."

"How about your family needs you?"

Beau shook his head. "What for? Ben and Beau got each other. Given half a chance, I think Ben'd go back to Montana with his boy. Bart learned how to get outta trouble without me a long time ago. And you've got Althea. And even after all these years your momma's absence is still like a stabbin' pain in my heart. I won't never have any peace until I'm layin' here with her."

"Pappy - "

Beau placed the flowers he'd brought on Belles' grave and stood up slowly, old bones creaking and getting the best of him. Bret grabbed his father by the elbow and helped pull him to his feet. For the first time in years he took a good look at Beauregard Jefferson Maverick; his hair was white and there were a few wrinkles he hadn't noticed before. Even at Beau's age he was still a handsome man. But there was a weariness, a sadness in his eyes and on his face that Bret hadn't seen before. The thought struck him then; Pappy had gotten old. When had that happened?

There was an ironic smile on Beau's face when he turned to face his son. He seemed smaller, and fragile almost. "What?" he asked.

Bret's turn to shake his head. "Sorry. I had no idea momma's passin' still hurt so much."

The weariness had left his face and crept into his voice. "Every day, boy. Every day." He cleared his throat and straightened himself. "You hold onto that little gal with both hands. They slip away from ya when ya least expect it." He pulled out of his son's grasp and walked back to his horse, mounting with no trouble at all. "I'll meet ya at the bottom of the hill, alright?" and he rode away before Bret could say anything.

Pappy needed a few minutes to collect himself, and his son was more than willing to give it to him. He looked at the graves and wondered if his uncle felt the same way as his father. How could you face every day with that much pain in your life? Is that what happened if you fell in love and lost your partner? And then a terrible thought crossed his mind. Is that what he had in store for himself?


	9. Old Wounds

Chapter 9 – Old Wounds

"Thanks for goin' up there with me."

Bret took a draw on his cigar and glanced at his father. "Did ya think I wouldn't?"

"I don't know, son. I don't seem to get anything right anymore."

Bret didn't know if his father actually felt that way or he was just trying to garner sympathy. Lily Mae had fixed an outstanding lunch, and when they were done, they adjourned to the porch to smoke. When Pappy issued the invitation to join him for lunch he'd told his son there were things he wanted to talk about; Bret was still waiting to hear anything from his father out of the ordinary. "I thought you wanted to talk to me about somethin'," Bret finally said.

Beau coughed and shifted in his chair, taking a long draw on his cigar. "Well, I did. I . . . . . look, I was awful hard on you about Althea. She's a good girl, and I didn't give her a chance. I guess I just didn't wanna see you leave here. I knew you weren't home to stay, but I was hopin' you'd be here longer than you were. The last thing your brother told me before he left was to spend some time with you, and he was right. I guess I've always left you pretty much on your own, but that wasn't because I didn't love you, son. That's because Bart was always in one kind of trouble or another, and he needed more a my time. Not because I loved him more, but because we came so close to losin' him so many times. Remember when you were seventeen, and he was mixed up in that robbery with Earnie and Fred?"

"He wasn't mixed up in it, Pappy."

Beau took another draw on his cigar and then fixed a meaningful look on his firstborn. "Yeah he was, Bret, and you know it. He told me about it, finally. And do you know the reason he didn't go through with it? You. He didn't want to disappoint you. Not me; you. You were a better father to him than I ever coulda been. I was so proud a you. You did what I couldn't do – you kept our almost delinquent boy from goin' off the rails. You took care a him when he was sick; you were his ma and pa when I didn't know how to be."

Beauregard laid his hand on Bret's arm. "I knew I didn't hafta worry about you doin' somethin' like that. You were so damn steady and dependable. I could always count on you. Many's the time you kept both of us on the straight and narrow. And my biggest regret is that your momma didn't live long enough to see what a fine man you are."

Bret was quiet for a long time and didn't say anything. On one hand, Pappy sounded honest and sincere, like he really meant everything he said. On the other, this WAS Beauregard Maverick. Finally Bret heaved a big sigh. It was the best he could do right now.

"Nothin' to say, son?"

"Yeah, I . . . . . . thanks for tellin' me all that, Pappy." _'Wish you'd told me a long time ago,'_ he thought but didn't say it. "It's a lot to think about." Bret threw the remains of his cigar out into the dirt and stood to go. It was passed three o'clock and time to get Althea from the Walker Ranch. "You still comin' over this week?"

Beau gazed up at his firstborn, standing so straight and tall in the afternoon sun. That was all he could manage to say after Beau poured his heart out? Maybe it was too late for them after all? "Yeah, I'll be there. Same time, around six?"

"Yeah, Pappy, six o'clock is fine. Thanks for lunch, and the company to visit Momma. I'm sure she was glad we were both there. I'll see you soon, alright?"

And before Beauregard could think of anything else to say, Bret was in the buggy and headed towards the Walker's. Beau sat on the porch for the longest time, after the dust the buggy kicked up had settled back down, and wondered what more he could do. Had he gotten one back just to lose the one he'd always counted on? Did Bret feel so abandoned that his only response was no response at all? He got up slowly from the rocker and walked inside, feeling old and alone. And if he was truly alone, he had no one to blame but himself.

XXXXXXXX

Winnie and Althea relaxed on the porch, rocking and drinking sweet tea. John and Jesse were out in the corral with their father, Will. Winnie had lost weight, and her eyes had an almost flat look to them, but she smiled as she talked. "How'd you get him to move in with you? He's resisted every effort to pin him down for years and years."

'I just asked him," Althea replied. "It took him long enough to make up his mind. I think Beauregard was pressuring him not to, but he finally did."

Winnie threw back her head and laughed. "That sounds like Beau. And how was he when you went for dinner?"

"Just as sweet as he could be. He really is a lovely man."

That elicited another laugh from Winnie. "A lovely man? I'll bet nobody's ever called Beauregard Maverick 'a lovely man' before. A lot of other things, though. Every child in the entire valley was scared to death of 'old man Maverick.' He had a look and a way of talking that put fear into your heart. Even when you'd done nothing wrong."

"Really?" Althea questioned. "Maybe when he was a younger man, but not now. He's been nothing but gracious and charming to me. Winnie, look at Jesse in the corral. What is he, three, four? And already on a horse like he's been there his whole life. I hope . . . . . . . " and her voice trailed off before she finished.

"You hope what, Althea? That you have one just like that? You countin' on Bret bein' the daddy? I wouldn't hold my breath for that. That boy was raised to believe that marriage preceded babies. And marriage may be down the road for him someday, but it sure isn't now. He hasn't led you to believe otherwise, has he?"

Althea stared down at her lap, where one hand was fidgeting nervously. "No. No Winnie, he hasn't. He's been real up front about that. I just hope he'll change his mind. I know he loves me."

Winnie was just a bit skeptical. This was one of the infamous marriage-shy Mavericks, after all. "Has he told you that? I mean, has he said the words?"

Althea couldn't believe that was even a question. "Of course he has."

Winnie was impressed. That was a lot further than he'd ever gotten with anyone else in town, including Mary Alice or Winnie herself. Maybe there was a chance for Althea. Just as Mrs. Neary was pondering this possibility, the man himself appeared driving Althea's buggy.

Althea searched his visage for some kind of indication about lunch. It didn't take long to determine that his poker face was in evidence and it would take some subtle questioning to establish the direction the afternoon visit with his father had taken. He pulled up in front of the house and hopped out of the buggy, taking the porch steps two at a time. "That's what I like to see," he told them. "Two of my favorite ladies enjoying a sunny Sunday afternoon."

"Pull up a chair, you juvenile delinquent, and have some sweet tea," Winnie laughed as she reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"I'm sorry, you have me confused with my brother. I'm the straight and narrow boy. And that's funny as all get-out. Pappy and I were just discussing Bart's almost-participation in a life of crime."

"What?" Althea was shocked. "You mean the hopeless romantic was once a bad boy?"

"An almost bad boy," Bret answered. "He backed out before he could get into too much trouble. I think that's as close as he ever got to an actual crime. Well, at least when we were kids."

"Fred never said a word about that. Did he know anything about it?"

Bret nodded. "Yeah, Fred was involved in it, too. Bart's change-of-heart kept Fred out of trouble. I don't think they were real proud a that episode. There was a third kid involved, and he went ahead with the plan. It got him killed."

Dead silence followed until Winnie finally asked, "The saloon hold-up in Claytonville? Where Earnie Night got shot? They were involved in that?"

Bret laughed a little and shook his head. "Almost involved in that. Bart and Fred declined to participate at the last minute and Earnie went ahead with it."

"We all wondered about that," Winnie explained. "Fred and Earnie and Bart were such close friends; we all had trouble believing that Earnie tried to pull a job like that without the other two. But there was no evidence implicating them."

"That's because they backed out. Didn't make any sense to hold 'em responsible for somethin' they didn't do."

Winnie nodded knowingly. "Earnie was just trouble waitin' for a place to happen. Given enough time he'd of tried something else."

"Fred and Bart were so petrified by Earnie's gettin' shot that they weren't ever tempted again. So just remember that; I was not involved."

Winnie reached over and patted Bret's arm. "Okay, Mr. Good Boy. Now, how about that tea?"

"No thanks, Winnie. I'm full a coffee."

Althea was a little shaken by the revelations but tried to laugh it off. "You're always full of coffee. We should go, Winnie. It's getting late. Ooooh, look, now it's Johnny's turn on the horse. He doesn't look near as happy about it as Jesse did." All three looked to the corral just in time to see Will remove Johnny, who was now crying, from the mare. Johnny made a run for his mother as Will lifted Jesse back up on the horse. "Mommmmmmmyyyy," Johnny cried as he scooted under the corral fence and straight across the yard to his mother on the porch. "Mommy, don't like horsey," Johnny continued to cry as his mother picked him up and comforted him.

"Uh-oh, a banker in the making," Bret remarked as he tried not to laugh. Meanwhile, Jesse was having a fine time riding for his father. "There's your next ranch owner," he added, pointing to Jesse. Then he turned his head back towards Althea and offered his hand to help her up from the chair.

Althea reached down and patted Winnie's knee; she could barely be heard over Johnny's wailing. "I'll see you on Saturday," then kissed the top of the little boy's head. His crying descended into small sobs as he decided sitting on Mama's lap wasn't so bad after all.

Bret escorted Althea to the buggy and helped her up, then waved at Will, who was beaming like a proud papa. Will and Jesse waved back, and Bret was reminded of the first time Pappy had put him on a horse. His reaction was far closer to Jesse's than Johnny's. And Bart, well Bart was absolutely in heaven when he sat his first mount. _'There I go again,_ ' Bret thought, _'remembering it all together. Do I have a single memory that doesn't have my brother in it?'_ It took a minute before he thought about Mary Alice. That didn't involve Bart at all. Well, not much.

He was brought back to the present when Althea asked, as they pulled away from the ranch, "How was your visit with Beauregard?" He made an odd face and she continued, "That good?"

"Well, I'll tell ya . . . . . . . ."


	10. That's What Friends are For

Chapter 10 – That's What Friends are For

"I'm not sure," Bret told Althea, in answer to her question of "How was your visit with Beauregard?" "He's got . . . . . he said . . . . . he wants . . . . . I don't know. I don't know what he wants from me, Althea."

"What did you talk about?"

"Me. And him. And Bart. And why he did some of the things he did."

"Just normal father-son things?"

"Believe me, there's nothin' normal about Beauregard Maverick."

She looked puzzled. "I don't understand, Bret. What did you talk about?"

"I don't understand either, and I was there. Can we just forget about it for now? I need to think about this for a while."

"If you want to, certainly." She was just as puzzled right now as Bret was. What in the world could the subject have been that was so confusing? She was beginning to realize that this family of simple poker players was a whole lot more complicated than it appeared on the surface.

The buggy drove on in silence until they'd just about gotten home. Then Bret finally spoke up. "I need to go play some poker tonight, Althea. I don't know when I'll be home."

"Alright. Do you want supper first?" It would be the first time he was gone at night since he'd moved in with her.

"No. I'm not hungry. I just wanna think."

"And you can do that while you're playin' poker?"

"Yeah."

When they reached the Taylor Ranch Bret pulled up and helped Althea out and into the house. He led the horse and buggy over to the barn and unhitched them, then saddled his gelding and mounted. He left for Little Bend without saying another word, or even telling Althea he was leaving. Whatever his father said to him was undoubtedly weighing heavily on his mind, and she wondered if she'd helped or hurt things with her questions. It would be late Monday morning before she saw him again, and when she did she wasn't certain whether anything had been resolved or not.

He wasn't sure why he had to get out of the house and away from Althea; he just knew he had to. He kept going over everything Pappy had told him and coming to the same conclusion – Pappy had a guilty conscience and wanted to unburden himself.

He rode into Little Bend and went straight to Maude's, hoping that the lady herself would be at the saloon. She was and was pleased to see him. "Well come on in, stranger!" she called when she saw him in her doorway. "What's brought you to town?"

He walked in and closed her door, then took a chair in front of her desk. "Beauregard Maverick."

She stared intently at his face, then pulled the brandy bottle and two glasses out of her desk drawer. After pouring both glasses, she handed one to Bret and he took it and drank it straight down, then passed the glass back to her. She filled it again and he did the same thing, handing it back to her once more. She filled it the third time and he set it on the desk in front of him. "Well, that musta been a hell of a visit," Maude offered.

"You knew about it?" he questioned her.

"Yes, sir," she nodded back to him. "Beauregard and I have become quite good friends. He told me the last time he came in that he was gonna talk to you."

"That he did. Talk to me, I mean. But I'll be damned if I know why."

"I hear you got a new home with a lady in it. Why are you sittin' in my office talkin' to me?"

He picked up the brandy glass and took a swallow. "Maude, you know Pappy. Althea doesn't, not really. She asked me if we talked about normal father-son things. Ha! As if Beauregard would ever talk about normal things with anybody, much less one of his sons."

"That's not true, honey. He talked about a lot of just that kinda thing with Handsome before he left town."

"With Bart? You call the story my Pappy told my brother normal?"

"For Beauregard Maverick, yup. Completely normal. Your father is a most, uh . . . . . unusual gentleman."

"That's a quaint way of saying that he's a rapscallion of the first order."

Maude suppressed a laugh. "I think 'unusual gentleman' puts things in a better light."

"Why, Maude? Why did he wait until now to tell me that he . . . . . that he regrets some of the things he did?"

"Such as?"

"Pushin' me aside to pay attention to Bart. Because 'we came so close to losin' him so many times.' Like I don't know that. I raised him, for God's sake, Maude. Now he wants to tell me he loves me just as much as he loves my brother? And I'm supposed to just smile and nod my head and tell him everything's okay? Where was his concern all those years when I thought the only reason he was there at all for me was because he had nowhere else to go?" Bret got up from the chair and walked in circles around the room, something he only did when he was beside himself and didn't know what else to do.

"Honey, we all make mistakes, and your Pappy's no different than any other human bein'. He's messed up plenty in his life, and he knows it. But it sounds to me like he's tryin' to make it right, both with your brother and you. What are you really mad about?"

He walked around in one more circle and sat back down. Maude went to pour his glass full again but he waved her off. For the very first time since she'd met him he was on the verge of being out-of-control. _'Maybe that's what he needs,'_ she reasoned, but said nothing.

It was almost five full minutes before he answered her. "I don't know, Maude. I don't know. Maybe that's what bothers me so much. I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Would it help if your brother was here?"

He shook his head then. "I don't think so. I think this part of it is just between me an Pappy." Slowly he realized what she meant. "You know where he is, don't you?"

"Yup. He stopped by here fore he left town. Told me where he was headed."

Bret nodded slowly. "Good. I'm glad he didn't leave without tellin' somebody."

"You playin' poker tonight?"

"No, ma'am. I wouldn't after drinkin'. I'm goin' . . . . . . back to Althea's."

"Anything else you need to get off your chest?" He shook his head 'no' but continued to sit at her desk, just staring into space. Maude had work to do, and much as she enjoyed his company she knew it wasn't going to get done as long as he sat there. "Okay, gamblin' man. You take care a yourself, you hear?"

"Thanks, Maude. And thanks for listenin'. I'll figure it all out."

"I know you will, Bret. Come back an see me when you do."

"Sure."

"Thanks, Bart."

And they were both laughing as he left her office and the saloon.


	11. An Office Visit

Chapter 11 – An Office Visit

He didn't go to Althea's. Or home. Or whatever anybody wanted to call it. He got on his horse and rode, finally ending up by the river where so many things had happened in his life. Despite his assurance to Maude that having Bart here wouldn't make anything better or easier, he knew that wasn't true. Bart had suffered through enough ups and downs with their father to lend a guiding hand.

How many times had he stood on the banks of the river and skipped stones across the water, just like he was doing now? Every time he threw one he watched it bounce and hop and leap again through the air, just to bounce, hop, and leap once more. As long as his hands were busy he didn't have to think. Why hadn't Pappy been there? Why had a seven-year-old boy been left in charge of his five-year-old brother? Was their father so constricted by grief that even the act of raising his sons was impossible to accomplish?

Then he made himself stop and remember. Did that actually happen? Maybe, but he realized he wasn't being fair. There were plenty of times that Pappy had held them, and rocked them, and kissed them when he tucked them in bed at night. Bret even dredged up memories of his father attempting to sing to them, attempting being the operative word. No, Pappy wasn't demonstrative like Momma was, but there was never any question that he loved his boys. That's the way he always referred to them, as 'his boys.'

Why was he having such a hard time accepting the fact that some of the things he'd always believed weren't true? Pappy didn't love Bart any more than Bret, it's just that Bart required so much attention that it seemed that way to a child. When his brother wasn't sick with one thing or another, he always had a variety of body parts broken. They included his right arm twice, both his legs at the same time, his left foot, and a fractured right hip. And an almost fractured skull. The legs and skull were his own fault, broken when he jumped or fell (he was always vague about which it was) from the roof of the barn when he was ten years old.

Reliving his brother's injuries didn't make Bret feel any better about the negative reaction he was having to Pappy's disclosures. Why did Beauregard feel this sudden need to unburden himself? Was there something that Pappy hadn't told him _? 'Hmmm, think back,'_ his mind urged him. _'Has Pappy been to see Doc Petry anytime recently? Is there somethin' wrong that he's not tellin' me?'_

Well, there was one way to find out. And it had nothing to do with asking his father.

XXXXXXXX

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," Doctor Petry muttered as he almost sprinted for the front door. Six a.m. on a Monday morning and he'd already treated a rash and two fevers. Right now he was finishing a cast on Timmy Jefferies left foot, broken after falling out of a tree that his mother had specifically told him not to climb. When the doctor pulled the door open he was surprised to find Bret Maverick standing on the other side.

"Bret, come on in. Something wrong?"

"I don't know, Doc. I need to talk to you."

Doc looked carefully at the man in front of him. He appeared to be alright, and the next thing that crossed Doc's mind was Beauregard or Bentley. "Is someone sick?"

"I'm not sure. You in the middle of somethin'?" Bret pointed to the plaster beginning to dry on Doc's fingers.

"Yeah, just finishing. Can it wait a few minutes?"

Bret nodded obligingly. "Yeah, sure. Can I sit in your office?"

"Go ahead. You know where it is." Doc hurried back into his exam room, where Timmy Jeffries and his left foot waited patiently for him. Bret wandered on into Doc's office and made a pot of coffee. When the doctor returned about twenty minutes later, Bret had just finished pouring a cup for himself and one for Petry, which he handed to Simon as he entered the room. Simon and Bret had gone to school together and known each other since they were six years old.

"God, thanks. I've been so busy I didn't even have time to make a pot this morning. You don't know how much this is appreciated."

"Busy mornin'?"

"I got here sometime after four and it hasn't stopped since then. Maybe it'll be quiet for a while now. Sit down, Bret. Tell me what the problem is."

Bret took a seat in front of Simon's desk while the doctor walked around the back of it and sat in his chair. "I'm not sure there is a problem, Simon. Has my father been in to see you lately?"

Doc took a swallow of coffee before shaking his head. "Beauregard? No, I haven't seen him for almost six months. Has something happened to him?"

Simon Petry heard a big sigh from his longtime friend. "No, Simon, he's actin' strange, tellin' me and Bart things he shoulda told us a long time ago, goin' outta his way to get along with people, and I just wondered if there was somethin' he wasn't tellin' me about. He seems fine except for that."

"Well, Bret, Beauregard is pretty old, you know. A lot of people at that age start worrying about dying, telling their loved ones things they maybe shoulda said years ago. But you don't think that's all there is to it, do you?"

"I don't know, Simon. Why now?"

"Anything changed around your uncle's house recently?"

"Yeah, Bart's gone again. Left early one mornin' about ten days ago. And I moved in with Althea Taylor."

"You did? You sly devil. Didn't even know that you knew her."

"Bart and I ran that cattle drive for her, the one that Fred and his dad contracted for before they got killed. Believe me, I didn't plan it. It just kinda happened. Whether we wanted it to or not."

"Well, I'm pleased for you. When's the wedding?"

"I never said anything about a weddin'."

"Bret, really? With that pretty little gal? And you're not gonna marry her?"

"No, Simon, I'm not. Fred hasn't even been dead six months. And I'm not ready to get married and settle down. Althea knew all that goin' in."

"Then she's a whole lot more understanding than most women would be."

Bret shrugged. "So, that's what's changed. You think my movin' out's got Beauregard in a state?"

"Could be, Bret. You never know what's gonna set somebody off."

Knocking could be heard at the front door. "Doesn't sound like this day's gonna get any easier," Simon remarked as he started to get up.

"Take your time, Simon. I'll let 'em in. And thanks for the information." Bret stood as Simon drank the rest of his coffee, then left the office and opened the front door on his way out. It was Mrs. Lefferts, the Sunday School teacher. "Mornin', Mrs. Lefferts." He tipped his hat to the woman who'd been a town fixture for as long as he could remember.

"Well, I'll be. Bret Maverick. I heard you were back in town, but I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen you myself. Is Doc Petry in?"

"Yes, ma'am, he's in his office. Be gentle, it's been a busy mornin' so far."

"I'll do that, young man. Give my best to your father." And she brushed past him and headed for Simon's office.

"Poor Simon," Bret muttered under his breath and closed the door behind him, delighted at that exact moment that he was a gambler and not a doctor.


	12. Good Advice

Chapter 12 – Good Advice

Althea was a nervous wreck; she'd been awake since about five in the morning and hadn't been able to go back to sleep. Dawn had long since passed and there was no sign of Bret.

She remembered exactly what he'd told her late Sunday afternoon _. "I need to go play some poker tonight, Althea. I don't know when I'll be home."_ She knew exactly where he was, and exactly what he was doing. Well, she sort of knew where he was. Somewhere in Little Bend, playing poker. That didn't make her feel any better.

She knew this day was coming, she just didn't realize it was coming so soon. She'd hoped that Bret wouldn't feel the need to run off and go play poker for a while, but his almost immediate reaction to his visit with his father was to flee her presence for the relative 'safety' of the poker tables. What in the world had Beauregard told him?

By ten o'clock she could take no more and saddled her horse. She did her best to talk herself out of going but finally ignored that little voice in her brain saying _'don't do it'_ and mounted, heading straight for Ben Maverick's house. When she arrived she found Lily Mae sitting on the porch, rocking and darning socks.

"He ain't here," Lily Mae announced before Althea could get a word out.

"How do you know why I'm here?" the young widow asked as she dismounted and joined Lily on the porch.

"Cause you got that look in yer eye," Lily answered, not the least disturbed by Althea's sudden arrival.

"What look would that be?" Althea probed.

"That 'he's never been gone before and I don't know what to do' look."

"Oh." She sat there and fidgeted with her hands, not knowing what to say next.

"Go on inside and pour yerself some coffee."

"Good idea," came the response, and Althea walked through the silent house into the kitchen. She opened a cupboard and found a good-sized mug, then reached for the coffee pot and filled it. When she returned to the porch Lily had finished the sock she was working on and picked up its mate, also in need of repair.

"Be careful, Bret'll wear socks with holes in 'em if you let him," Lily warned.

"Won't he tell me about them?"

"Nope. Never thinks of it."

"Lily Mae . . . . . . " Althea started, and then stopped, not knowing exactly how to phrase her question.

"Went to town to play poker and think?"

"Yes. How'd you know?"

A short laugh issued forth from the housekeeper. "It's a Maverick trait."

"Do they really . . . . . . . ?"

"Oh yeah," Lily answered quickly. "They don't lie to ya. If they tell ya they're goin' to town, they're goin' to town. Doesn't surprise me that's where he went, after his visit yesterday."

"What happened, Lily? I tried to get him to talk about it and he didn't want to. What in the world happened?"

"They had a 'come to Jesus' meetin'."

"They had a – "

"'Come to Jesus' meetin'."

Althea was unsure what Lily Mae meant, so she displayed a puzzled look as she asked for an explanation.

"You hafta understand the way these boys grew up. How much do ya know about that?"

"Not a lot," Althea replied. "Just what Bret told me. That he practically raised Bart. That's about all."

Lily Mae shook her head. "It was a lot more than that. Bart was poorly as a child, and Bret played nursemaid to him all the time. He got 'em both up for school, got 'em there an back every day, comforted his brother when the nightmares came. He was mama and papa to that boy. When there was trouble, Bart went to Bret, not to Beauregard. It was a long, long time after Miz Belle passed before Beauregard started functionin' as a father. By that time Bart didn't need no pappy, and when he did he relied on his brother. They've got a bond like I've never seen with brothers before."

"But why - ?"

"Why's all this comin' up now? When you all first came back from the cattle drive, Beauregard sat Bart down and told him the whole fairy tale about him and Miz Belle and what happened after she passed. He was gonna tell it to both of 'em, but Bret was over at your place all the time and not interested in listenin', so he just told Bart. Bret's feelin's were hurt. All the old ideas he had about his pappy lovin' his brother more'n him came back, and Beauregard was just tryin' to convince Bret that wasn't the case."

"Why is that so confusing to Bret? Seems pretty straightforward to me."

"Cause you're lookin' at it from the outside. Bret lived it. Now he's hearin' that things he believed his whole life are wrong. He's confused, poor boy. It's gonna take him a while to figure it out."

"So what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" The poor girl was really mystified.

"Do ya love him?" Lily Mae asked her.

"Of course I do."

"Then ya just gotta wait it out."

"Wait it out? What does that mean?"

Lily Mae picked up another sock that needed mending. "Just what it sounds like, girl. You gotta wait for him to make sense of it all. However long that takes."

"How do you handle all this, Lily?" Althea was beginning to understand. Life with complicated men was not easy. Fred had not been complicated.

"It's a whole lot easier when yer not in love with any of 'em."

"Now you tell me."

Lily stole a glance at Althea's face and burst out laughing. "You got it bad, ain't ya girl?"

"I guess I must. Is it always this hard to love a man?"

"Only when it's a Maverick man, Althea. I warned ya not to get into this, didn't I?"

"So is that your way of saying 'I told you so'?"

Lily laughed again. "I guess it is, girl. It'll be worth your while if ya can make it work. That's a damn good man ya got there. Only one's got a bigger heart is his brother. The decision's yours."

Althea sighed and shook her head. "There's no decision, Lily Mae. He's worth whatever the price is."

"Well, girl, then I only got one thing ta say to ya – get on home fore that man a yours beats ya to it."

"Yes, ma'am." Althea leaned over and kissed Lily Mae on the cheek, then got up and returned her empty coffee cup to the kitchen. When she came out of the house, she placed her hand briefly on the older woman's shoulder and then continued to her horse. She mounted and rode off, back towards the Taylor Ranch.

Lily Mae watched her leave and shook her head. "Just not sure about that match, Lord. I hope you got a plan for 'em; they're gonna need it."


	13. Making Up for Lost Time

Chapter 13 – Making Up for Lost Time

It was almost noon when Bret led his horse into the barn and unsaddled him. He'd been gone nearly twenty hours and felt no more clear-headed than he had when he left. And it slowly dawned on him that Althea might not be terribly happy with him for being absent so long. Honestly, he'd never even given her a thought; he was so consumed by the war of words going on in his head.

As he walked back to the house, he took off his hat and mopped the sweat off his brow with his handkerchief. There was no sign of Althea. Surely she wouldn't still be sleeping, would she? He moved quietly into the house, just in case she was, but heard her in the kitchen humming. "Thea?" he called.

"Hey you," she answered back. "Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. You interested?"

As his stomach protested its absolute emptiness loudly, he let out a breath. He hadn't eaten anything since lunch yesterday and he was famished. "I sure am," he told her. "Anything I can do?"

"Sit yourself down at the table and tell me if you want coffee or sweet tea."

"Sweet tea would be wonderful." He took off his coat and hung it on the back of a chair, then took a seat. Did she know how late in the day it was? "Sorry I was gone so long."

"Poker must have been lucrative."

"Actually, I never played poker."

"Oh?" she asked, as she carried a plate and a glass of tea. She set it in front of him and returned to the kitchen, reappearing just a few moments later with another plate and glass. "Couldn't find a game you liked?"

She said it so nonchalantly, as if what he told her was almost expected. "No, I rode into town to play. When I got to Maude's nothin' looked real excitin', and Maude was in her office. So I went in and we talked. I was on my way home and I rode down to the river instead."

"You've been at the river this whole time?"

He took a bite and then shook his head. "No, while I was there I started wonderin' if there was somethin' goin' on with Pappy that I didn't know about. Medically, I mean. So I rode back to Little Bend to see Simon. Simon Petry. Doc and I went to school together. He was in his office workin' at four this mornin'. Anyway, I waited for him, and then we talked. About Pappy, mostly. Then I rode home." That wasn't quite all, but she didn't need to hear about his unplanned trip to see Momma.

"You were busy," she remarked. "How is Mrs. Donovan these days?"

"Maude's like always. The woman never changes. I did find out that Pappy's been talkin' to her."

"Uh-huh."

"Guess it runs in the family."

"Uh-huh." He could go and talk to a woman he barely knew, but he couldn't talk to her? Althea held her tongue; she feared that no matter what she said it would be the wrong thing.

"You're awfully quiet."

"Just listening, that's all. Does any of it make more sense than it did before?"

He gave that some thought before he answered. "Some of it. I guess I understand it in my head; not so much in my heart. Pappy coulda stayed quiet and it wouldn't a bothered me near as much."

"I see." That was a bald-faced lie. She didn't see anything and she didn't understand any of it. Maybe if she just stayed out of it . . . . . . my God, Bret was done eating already! "Did you chew any of that?"

"Nope. Is there any more?"

"No, sorry."

"How about dessert?" he asked.

"Depends on what you have in mind."

He reached across the table and took her hand in his, then kissed the back of it. "Well, you feel like takin' a nap?"

Her plate was almost empty. "Do I – well . . . . . . I guess I could stand a nap." And she giggled like a schoolgirl.

He stood up and pulled her to her feet, then swept her up in his arms. "Good. I'm about to fall asleep." He kissed her as he carried her into their bedroom.

XXXXXXXX

Late in the afternoon she lay in his arms and listened to his soft breathing as he slept. He'd certainly made up for not being here with her last night, and she was somewhat reassured. But she didn't understand why he could talk to Maude Donovan and he couldn't talk to her.

Once again the question arose in her mind – why was this relationship so complicated? Was it just because of what Bret was going through with his father? When that got sorted out, assuming it did, would everything settle down and fall into place? Or was that too much to hope for?

Bret stirred and pulled her closer; she was surprised to find his eyes open. He smiled at her and tipped her head up to kiss her mouth. "That's the kind of dessert I like," he told her softly, kissing her again. "Sorry I wasn't here last night."

"It's alright," she answered. "I know a lot is going on right now."

His body tensed up. "You could say that. I'm not really lookin' forward to Pappy comin' over this week. Let's hope we can persuade him to stop re-explainin' what I've already lived through."

"Why does he think that's necessary?"

He sighed, but she felt him relax slightly and start playing with her hair. "Maybe he feels guilty because he told Bart a lot a things he's never told me. I don't care. I'd just as soon forget about it."

"Maybe we can convince him of that."

"How?"

"I don't know yet, but we've got two days to work on it."

Bret laughed a little and held her tightly. "I've got a better idea on how to spend the next two days."


	14. Shreveport

Chapter 14 – Shreveport

The next days passed quietly. Bret did his best to keep Pappy and his disturbing revelations out of his head, and Althea tried to think of a way to keep Beauregard from upsetting Bret any more than he already had. Neither was particularly successful.

There were no more excursions into Little Bend to play poker, but Bret convinced Althea to take an overnight trip to Austin with him after Pappy's visit on Wednesday. He promised her a beautiful hotel room and some shopping, and she agreed to go. He wanted to play poker and had no desire to do it in Little Bend, where he was more than likely to run into his father.

Wednesday morning was gray and rainy, and Bret did his level best to keep Althea in bed with him instead of getting up. Finally, giggling and laughing, she was able to slide out of bed and run for her life, and he wasn't inclined to follow her. He lay there a while longer before finally getting up and getting dressed, then following his nose into the kitchen. Althea had coffee ready for him and was already working on Wednesday night's supper.

"Can't convince you to give all this up and come back to bed, can I?" he asked her with an amorous tone in his voice and a smile on his face.

She looked at him and laughed, then shook her head. "No, sir, you cannot. I have lots of things to do to get ready for tonight. Go find yourself something to keep you occupied or I'll put you to work."

With that threat hanging over him, he quickly refilled his cup and headed for the porch. A cigar sounded good right now; it wouldn't take the place of what else he had in mind, but it would give him something to do. He sat down in one of the rockers and got one lit; he was in the process of rocking and smoking when Ned Southern rode up.

Ned didn't dismount, just called out to Bret, "Mornin', Mr. Maverick."

"Ned, when did that happen? My name's still Bret."

"Yes, sir. Bret. Glad you were here this mornin'. I just come back from Fort Worth. Heard a story there I didn't much like. Thought you oughta know about it."

"What was it about, Ned?"

"Your brother, Bart."

Ned immediately had Bret's full attention. "Come on down here, Ned, so we can talk privately."

Ned nodded and dismounted, tying his horse to the hitching rail in front of the house. Ned had started working for Althea as soon as he'd gotten back to Little Bend with Bart and Will Neary, after the end of the cattle drive. He walked up on the porch and took the seat next to Bret. "Cigar?" Maverick asked him.

Ned shook his head. "No thanks, Bret. That's one habit I ain't picked up yet."

Bret indicated the house. "There's more coffee inside if you want some."

"Thanks, Mr. - Bret. I think I will if you don't mind." Ned walked in the house and Bret could hear him talking to Althea; heard the sound of her laughter and kitchen noises. Ned made his way back to the porch and sat in the chair next to Bret. He took a swallow of coffee and then nodded his head. "Sure tastes good."

"About Bart - "

"Oh, yes, sir. Well, I got a friend up in Fort Worth told me what he heard from a friend a his. Said Bart was accidentally involved in some kinda hold-up at the bank in Shreveport. Didn't have too many a the details, just that your brother was runnin' from the bank robbers an the sheriff's posse. And that the robbers were plenty pissed that he'd gotten his hands on what they stole. That's all my friend knew."

An involuntary chill went up Bret's spine. This sounded exactly like something Bart would get involved with. Damn it, Bart! How did you get into these things? "Thanks for lettin' me know, Ned. If ya hear anythin' else . . . . . . . "

The young man nodded knowingly. "Yes, sir. I'll let ya know right away. Thanks for the coffee, and thank Miz Taylor for me too, would ya?"

Ned stood to leave and Bret took the empty cup from his hands. "No matter what it is or when it is. I need to know right away."

Another nod from the ranch hand. "You betcha." He untied his horse, mounted, and rode towards the bunkhouse. Ned was learning ranch life quickly, and Bret had no doubt he'd be a foreman someday really soon.

He finished his own coffee and went back into the house. "Thea?" he called as he got close to the kitchen. "I need to ride into Little Bend for a bit."

She looked up from the vegetable chopping she was doing and saw the concern in his eyes. "Something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," he answered. "But I'm gonna do my best to find out. I'll be back soon." He kissed the top of her head, set the coffee cups down, and was out the front door before she had time to ask any more questions.

Less than ten minutes later he and the gelding were on their way to Little Bend and, hopefully, more information.

XXXXXXXX

It seemed like the bank robbers after Bart weren't the only ones pissed; Mother Nature was in no mood to be messed with, either. A slow, steady rain came down all the way to town, and Bret was soaked to the skin by the time he arrived. He went straight to Maude's saloon and found Doralice behind the long, mahogany bar. She took one look at him and pulled a towel from underneath the same bar and he used it to wipe the rain off his face. "Thanks, Doralice. Any chance your momma's here yet?"

The younger version of Maude chuckled. "At this time of day? Bret, you know better than that. What's on your mind?"

"I know that Bart stopped here before he left and told yer Momma where he was headed. Did she share that with you?"

Doralice poured him a cup of coffee and slid it across the bar. "She didn't have to. I was here when he came in and talked to Momma."

Bret nodded. "Good. Was he headed towards Shreveport?"

Doralice shook her head. "Bret, you know he asked us not to - "

He didn't let her finish. "I know that, Doralice, but I don't care. I heard somethin' that could be real disturbin' this mornin' and I need to know if that's where he was headed."

She spent a minute searching his face, including his eyes, and she saw the fear and worry there. "He told us he was goin' to Dallas, then on east from there."

"So probably Shreveport, knowin' Bart."

The girl nodded. "Probably. What did you hear?"

"That he might be in trouble, mixed up in some kinda chase with outlaws and a posse."

"Well, if he's with a posse . . . . . "

"No, Doralice, the outlaws and the posse are chasin' him."

"Oh. OH." She shook her head. "Not good."

"Thanks for the coffee. And the towel." He set the towel down on the bar and walked back out of the saloon, headed for the Wells Fargo office, where the telegraph was. He wrote out a brief wire and took it to the clerk, who was new since the last time Bret had been in the office.

"Can you send this to general delivery, New Orleans, please?" he handed the form to the clerk.

"Yes, sir. Right away."

The wire read: _'To Bartley Jamison, General Delivery, New Orleans, Louisiana. Need help? Signed Breton Joseph.'_ Those were the names they used when there was a problem of any kind. If somebody was looking for a Maverick, they wouldn't find one.

If Bart was indeed in trouble and had left Shreveport, he would in all likelihood head for New Orleans. Big and genteelly rowdy, it was easy to get lost there. Especially if you knew the city as well as the Mavericks did.

Bret sighed. There was not much else he could do now but wait, either for an answer from Bart or more information from Ned's friend in Fort Worth. Great. Now he could worry about his brother instead of Pappy. He didn't know which was worse and right now he didn't care. Staying in one place was beginning to get him down.


	15. The Straw

Chapter 15 – The Straw

Because it had rained all day Bret drove the buggy over to Uncle Ben's house to pick up his father. Beauregard had given up driving Ben's buggy by himself; if it was dry he rode his horse, if wet he tended to stay home. Bret, knowing that, made sure Pappy had a dry ride to the Taylor Ranch.

"How are ya, son?" Beauregard asked his firstborn.

"Been better, been worse," Bret answered, without a lot of emotion.

"Oh. Trouble with Althea?"

"Nope." Bret explained no further, and Beauregard didn't pry. They drove in silence for the greatest part of the trip.

Finally Beau said, "Thanks for comin' to get me."

"Sure."

All attempts at conversation ceased. The rest of the journey was deathly still, and when they reached the ranch, Beau got out without saying anything else. Althea was at the door to welcome him; she kissed him on the cheek and asked the same thing he'd asked Bret – "How are you, Beau?"

He smiled and responded differently than his son had. "I'm well, Althea. My, aren't you lookin' lovely tonight?" She hooked her arm through his and led him into the front room. There was a welcoming fire burning in the fireplace, and Bret scooted in the door not far behind them, shaking the rain off of his hat.

"Pappy, you want some coffee?" Bret asked politely.

"Thank you, son, that would be most welcome. Althea, there are all kinds of delightful smells comin' from the other room, but there's one I'd recognize anywhere. Texas Pecan Pie?"

Althea nodded. "Lily Mae said it was your favorite. I borrowed her recipe."

Beauregard shook his head and there was a small tremor in his voice. "It was Bret's momma's recipe. Nobody ever made it like Isabelle."

"Well, I gave it my best shot. I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will, my dear. Come sit here with me and tell me what's happenin' in your life."

Bret brought a cup of fresh-brewed coffee for his father. "Would you like some brandy, Pappy?"

Beauregard looked up at his son, surprised. "Since when – "

"I think you had a good idea. One should have it for their guests." _'And for the host,'_ Bret thought, _'when they need something to give them a little courage.'_ Easy enough to disguise in a cup of coffee. Althea gave him an odd look. When had Bret bought brandy?

"Dinner is almost ready, Beauregard. How's Uncle Bentley? Has your nephew left for Montana yet?"

Althea kept Beau engaged in conversation while Bret sat and drank his coffee, and pretended to listen. The brandy had settled his nerves some and he wasn't feeling quite so tense. So far she was doing a masterful job of keeping his father interested in talking about everything but Bart or Beauregard's need to unburden himself to his son. It took him a minute to realize that they were talking about him.

"No, he's still absolutely useless," Althea told Beau and laughed guiltily. "But that's alright. He's had some splendid ideas for changes I can make around here that will make the operation of this as a working ranch much more efficient."

"Bret always did have some good ideas for improving things. He just never seemed real interested in putting them to use."

"KInda hard to be real inclined to improve things when the owner of the property doesn't care," Bret remarked. There was an undertone of sarcasm in his voice, and Althea sensed they'd crossed into 'touchy' territory. She quickly changed the subject.

"I do believe supper is ready, gentlemen. How about if we adjourn to the dining room?" She stood and took Beau's arm again, guiding him to the table. Bret followed her into the kitchen and helped her carry the food in. "What was that?" she whispered to him, almost afraid to ask.

"Payback," he answered. Every time Bret had a suggestion about the little ranch that Pappy raised the boys on, it met with indifference from their father. If Pappy had given him free reign he could have made the place profitable, but Beauregard had no interest in anything that didn't involve poker. About the time the war was beginning to heat up Bret had given up trying. He had no intention of letting Pappy forget that.

Supper remained reasonably friendly, perhaps more to do with the fact that Bret had another cup of brandy with his coffee than anything else. He stayed out of the discussion for the most part, only occasionally making a pertinent remark. He finished his supper with a relatively warm glow still present and agreed with Althea that pecan pie and coffee should be served in the living room. He saw the opportunity for a third cup of brandy and didn't hesitate to indulge. The rain was coming down harder now, and it was warm and cozy in the front room. Althea brought in dessert and Bret poured more coffee.

Everything would have been fine if Pappy had just stayed away from his crusade to make amends to his oldest son. Bret was feeling no pain, or much of anything else, when the subject finally reared its ugly head.

"Did you have a chance to think about the things we discussed on Sunday, son?"

"What?" Bret asked, shaken out of his peaceful reverie by his father's question.

"The talk we had on Sunday. Remember? I just wondered if you'd given it any thought."

Bret was quiet for a long minute, trying to decide how honest to be. Finally he shrugged. "I've done nothin' but think about it."

"And?"

"And nothin'."

"Bret, there must be more than that."

Althea looked in panic from one to the other. "Beauregard stop! Bret, let it go, please! Both of you stop!"

One more stubborn than the other, neither could drop what was rapidly turning into an argument. Beau's voice took on a sharp edge. "Go on, Breton, say it. You've always wanted to. Tell me whatever it is that you've been waiting years to tell me. Tell me that I always put Bart first, that I always paid more attention to him than you because he was more important. That I resented you because you prevented me from doing the one thing I truly wanted to do. And – " Beauregard suddenly stopped, becoming acutely aware of the vile words that had been coming out of his mouth. But it was too late.

Bret erupted, having held everything inside him for more than twenty years. He staggered to his feet, emboldened by the amount of brandy he'd had in a short period of time, and spit out his alcohol-fueled thoughts. "And what, Pappy? What do you expect me to say? All is forgiven? You turned my life upside down when I was a boy and now you've done it again? For what, to ease your conscience? What about my conscience? How could you sit there and tell me that you cared for me as much as my brother? I wasn't enough for you. You looked at me and still wanted to die. But you looked at him and wanted to live. How am I supposed to forgive you for that? Why couldn't you just leave it buried, where it belonged?"

Althea jumped up and grabbed Bret by the arm, forcing him to turn and face her. "STOP! What are you doing? This is your father! I don't care what he's done, stop it right now!" She was yelling at him and shaking his arm, and he simply pushed her off of him.

He shuddered, then leaned on the arms of his father's chair until his angry face was only inches from Beauregard's. "You only needed one son, and you made your choice. Go find your son, old man! Get out of here!" The enormity of what he'd just spit at his father finally struck him, and he reeled away from the man that had given him life and stumbled into the bedroom, where he collapsed across the bed.

Beauregard staggered to his feet, insulted, betrayed, destroyed by his son's words. How long had Bret felt that way? All the years he'd been the obedient son, the one who stayed out of trouble and did everything he was supposed to, who bent over backwards to try and make his father love him? How could he have done that to his firstborn, to the boy who'd grown into the man that looked just like him? And when had Bret started drinking? Is that what fueled the uncontrolled tirade? He could smell the liquor on Bret's breath when he leaned into his father's face. It didn't matter, his oldest son had told him in no uncertain terms that he hated his father, hated him for what he had done – or rather, what he hadn't done – loved the older as much as the younger.

Blinded by tears, he pushed past Althea, who was trying to keep him from bolting for the front door and babbling something incomprehensible at him. He grabbed the doorknob and yanked the heavy oak door open, stumbling across the dry porch and out into the mud and pouring rain, and lurched towards his brother's house. He heard Althea scream his name but he didn't stop, just kept going blindly toward home, and in seconds he was soaked to the skin. He trudged on through the dirt and mud, falling once when he stepped on a rock and once when he simply lost his footing. For over an hour he walked through the quagmire that twelve straight hours of rain had turned the road into, and when he finally reached home he was muddy, chilled, and emotionally shattered.

He knew he should get out of his sopping wet clothes, but he was too distraught to be bothered, and he literally lay across his bed and shivered until he passed out from exhaustion.


	16. Oh, My Aching Head

Chapter 16 – Oh, My Aching Head

Bret was sprawled across their bed; she didn't know if he was asleep or passed out. He'd been drunk, that much was obvious. She didn't know what to think; she didn't know what to do. She stood at the door to the bedroom for a few minutes, paralyzed by indecision. This was the man she'd professed to love, and she was mystified by how he'd gotten to this state.

The things Beauregard had said to his son were awful. And the things Bret answered back were worse. _"How could you sit there and tell me that you cared for me as much as my brother? I wasn't enough for you. You looked at me and still wanted to die. But you looked at him and wanted to live. How am I supposed to forgive you for that?"_ Bret's remarks showed just how deeply whatever had transpired was buried in his soul, and how much pain he was in because of it. Just what happened that caused this much misery for all these years? Had Beau meant what it sounded like when he said _"Tell me . . . . .that I resented you because you stopped me from doing the one thing I truly wanted to do_." It sounded like Pappy had considered . . . . . . _'Suicide?'_ She wondered. Was that sweet old man really capable of that? Bret sure made it sound that way.

The more she thought about it, the more she believed it. Why? What caused such desperate thoughts? It must have been when his wife died; she certainly understood that feeling. Althea had to do something to keep herself busy while she puzzled all this out, so she gathered the dishes and started cleaning up what was left of an almost successful supper. If she was right . . . . . . how had Bart made his father want to live, but Bret couldn't do the same thing? She had no answer for that and knew that the only one that could explain it to her was comatose in the bedroom.

By the time she had everything cleaned up and put away she couldn't think anymore. Her head hurt, her back ached, and she was feeling lucky that she had a second bedroom in the house. She had no intention of sleeping in the same bed with a man that was drunk, even though it appeared he had every right to be. She made her way to the other bedroom and opened the door. She hadn't been in here since . . . . . . well, since Fred and Sam were killed. Lily Mae had come over and helped clean Sam's clothes and personal belongings out, and now it just looked like a spare room. At least it afforded her somewhere to sleep other than . . . . . their bedroom. Maybe things would be better in the morning.

She removed her clothes and slipped under the blankets on the bed. She'd left her nightclothes in the bedroom and wasn't going after them now. It took her a long time to fall asleep; a lot of things ran through her mind and she couldn't eradicate the image of Bret leaning on the arms of the chair that his father sat in and telling the old man to get out. It broke her heart, to see father and son at such odds with each other. Finally she could think no more and fell into a restless, troubled sleep.

XXXXXXXX

The light was blinding him, and what was the terrible pain he felt? He tried to close his eyes to shut out the daylight and he discovered that his eyes were closed. That did not bode well for the pain in his head. And to add to everything his mouth tasted like he was growing cotton in it.

At his advanced age he was experiencing his first and, he vowed, his last hangover. How did people put up with this? Why did people put up with this? He finally gritted his teeth and opened his eyes, slowly. It wasn't much brighter with them open than closed. He reached up to rub his head, gently, and realized he was still dressed. What happened last night? Why . . . . . . . ?

And then his memory came roaring back to him, and he groaned. He'd thrown his own father out of the house, into the pouring rain. And stumbled into the bedroom, drunk for the first time in his life, and collapsed. He reached across the bed since his eyes still weren't focusing too well. Althea wasn't there. He forced himself to sit up, holding his head as he did so. He wondered if anything would abate the pain he felt stabbing him. He had to find Althea. He put his feet on the floor and was not surprised to discover his boots were still on. Once again he ruminated on the fact that some men did that every night of their lives and woke up feeling like this every morning. He couldn't live that way.

Still holding his head, he stood up and staggered for the first few steps. He walked around the bed, holding on to the bed frame, and made his way out into the main room. He could hear Althea humming softly in the kitchen, but even that small noise shattered the peace in his head and it hurt worse than it had just a few minutes ago. He had to get water to drink; maybe Althea knew of something that would quell the awful agony he felt. He made a noise when he almost tripped over the rug on the floor, and Althea whirled around when she heard it. "Well, look who's awake," she yelled. At least that's what it sounded like.

"Shhh," he said and put his finger to his lips. "Not so loud."

"I'm sorry," she answered, "does your head hurt?" There was a sarcastic tone in her voice.

"Everything hurts," came his reply and even the act of speaking made his forehead throb. "What did I do to deserve this?"

She had little sympathy for him, and held up the brandy bottle, which was half empty. "This is what you did," and she set it back down with a loud 'thump.' He winced and she grimaced. "Aw, sorry."

"Did I really – "

She didn't let him finish. "Yes, you did."

"How do you know what I was gonna ask?" He dropped into a chair in the kitchen and held his head with both hands.

"It doesn't matter. Whatever you were going to ask, the answer is still 'yes.' You did it." She had decided not to back down from her anger at his behavior, but seeing his abject misery with fresh eyes softened her heart. He was certainly acting like a man that had never had a hangover before. And was suffering greatly because of it.

"Thea, please. My head . . . . . . . did you take Pappy home last night?"

"No, I did not," she answered, and there was genuine sorrow in her voice. "I should have. He pushed me out of the way, just like you did, and stormed out of here on his own."

"He walked?" Just the act of asking the question made his head throb.

"He did."

"Was it still raining?" She heard the regret in his voice.

She wasn't going to lie to him just to make him feel better. "Pouring."

"Thea . . . . . . . "

Finally, her heart could take no more and she stood behind his chair, wrapping her arms around his head and pulling it against her body. "I'm sorry, honey," and she stroked his hair and massaged his temples. "Here, drink some coffee." She poured him a cup and handed it to him, reaching into her pocket for a small white pill. "And take this. It'll help."

"Aspirin?" he asked, and she nodded in reply. "Thank God. I just wanted . . . . I just wanted Pappy to let it go – leave it alone. Why couldn't he do that, Thea?" He swallowed the pill and looked at her with anguish in his eyes. "Was it . . . . . was it as bad as I think it was?"

Her voice was very quiet and filled with regret. "No, Bret. It was worse. I can't imagine how mad you were. Will you tell me what it was all about?"

He rested both elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands. He was ashamed and humiliated; not only that he'd permitted himself to drink too much brandy, but that he'd frightened one person that he loved and taken out twenty years of frustration on the other. Did he really believe his father loved his brother more than him? He searched his mind for an answer, and the only one he could find was 'no.' He'd allowed himself to be so hurt for so long over what he perceived as a major misstep by Pappy that when everything had finally come bursting out of him it was an irrational explosion. Maybe Bart had the right idea; get mad and get it out in the open, then deal with the repercussions instead of letting anger and resentment build up.

He owed her an explanation, at the very least, and he knew now was the time. "It's a long story, Thea, and not a pretty one. You have to understand one indisputable fact – Pappy loved Momma more than life itself. They went through a lot to be together, and when she died he was irretrievably lost. He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, and he became increasingly irrational. I hid his guns from him, and one night he near went crazy lookin' for 'em. He decided he had no reason to keep hurtin' the way he was, and there was only one way to stop the pain. I got scared and rode for Uncle Ben; by the time we got back to the house Pappy was outta his mind. I don't know what Ben did that night, but by the next day Pappy was calm but determined."

"Determined about what?" Althea asked in a softly frightened voice. She'd sat down at the table and reached over for Bret's hand.

Bret rubbed his temples; the pain in his head was beginning to ease somewhat. "Determined that when he got his guns back he was gonna kill himself."

Althea sucked in her breath. "He was that miserable?"

"He was that miserable. I heard him tell Ben that I'd be better off without him; Ben and Lily Mae could be momma and poppa." Bret chuckled softly, sadly, as he remembered the next few minutes. "Then Uncle Ben played the ace he had hidden up his sleeve. Momma had the most beautiful, expressive brown eyes. I look too much like Pappy; Bart got Momma's eyes. Ben asked Pappy who was gonna take care of Bart, and he brought my brother in with those eyes of Momma's to stare at Pappy. It was all over after that. Pappy couldn't stand the thought of dyin' and never seein' those eyes again. I always felt like I wasn't enough to make him wanna live, but Bart was."

"And because Bart was sick and hurt all the time . . . . . . "

"He got most of the attention. I did my best to be everything that Pappy wanted; the perfect son. Sometimes I succeeded, and I'd forget all about the inequities I imagined. Sometimes I didn't, and it just made me try harder. It's not Bart's fault; I love my brother. He's the only one that lived through it with me while we raised Pappy. Pappy knows how I feel; we've talked about it before. I guess it all came up again when he told Bart the story of him and Momma; Lily Mae calls it the 'Belle and Beau Maverick fairy tale.' When Bart left, he told Pappy to spend some time with me. Now Bart's bein' chased by who-knows-who and Pappy'll never speak to me again." He put his head back in his hands. He'd made such a God-awful mess of everything. "I gotta go talk to him."

Althea shook her head. "No, I think you better wait. Give him some time to get over the anger and his prideful reaction. Let things settle down a bit. Let's go ahead and make the trip to Austin, and when we come back you can go see him. By that time everything should be more calm."

He managed a small smile. "I think that's a good idea. But can we wait to leave until tomorrow? I don't wanna go anywhere with my head like it is. And pour the rest of that stuff out," he told her, pointing to the remaining brandy. "I don't even want it in the house."

She massaged the back of his neck and smiled, pleased that he'd made the choice. "I can do that."


	17. Perfect

Baby the Rain Must Fall

Chapter 17 – Perfect

He didn't think he'd ever forget how bad his head hurt on Thursday morning when he got up, and he was delighted when he woke on Friday to find that he once again felt human. At least as delighted as he was going to feel until he talked to Pappy and tried to mend the fences he'd torn down and burned on Wednesday night. Now that he felt better physically he was more than ready to get up and go to Austin for a day or two. The rain was gone and everything was bright and fresh; it seemed to be a beautiful day and Bret was whistling while he hitched the horse to the buggy. Althea left instructions with Ned about the handling of the ranch for a day or two, and the lovers were soon off, on their way to the city.

The trip was pleasant and Bret was in a better mood than he'd been in for several days. Althea was pleased to see him smile and joke along the way. He found the finest hotel in Austin and arranged for a 'suite' of rooms; it was almost like having a small house with the newest furnishings and maid service. They went shopping the first day they were there. Bret convinced Althea to buy a lovely new dress she found and he got three new shirts. They located the finest restaurant Austin had to offer and the widow was pleased to see that Bret's appetite had not been impaired by everything going on around them.

Althea retired to their hotel suite and Bret quickly found a saloon with a poker game to his liking. It took him a bit to get started on his game; at first all he could think about was Pappy and the fight. The normal Maverick poker playing rhythms soon kicked in, however, and he was satisfied with the way the cards were falling. The night passed quickly, and before he knew it morning had dawned and the game broke up. He'd won quite a bit and was more than content to call it a night.

Althea was still sleeping when he returned to the hotel room and he quickly undressed and joined her in bed. She was warm and soft and happy to see him; even happier when he told her how profitable his night had been. "Are you going to sleep all day?" she murmured between kisses.

"Nope," he answered. "Just a couple quick hours and then I'm good to go. But before I sleep - " and he pulled her as close as he could and kept kissing her. He was impossible to resist when they were together like this, and it was more than a few minutes before they were finally sound asleep, arms and legs intertwined in pleasure.

Some time later she woke to fiery kisses and found herself again swept up in his love-making. She was more than pleased that Bret seemed to have finally returned to her, strong and passionate and sure of himself. "What do you want to do today?" he questioned her while planting kisses in her hair.

"We could stay right here," she suggested.

He laughed. "We could have done this at home."

"You seem different here," Althea told him, and he agreed with her.

"I don't have to worry about . . . . . . anything."

She lay peacefully in his arms and wished it could always be like this. "Let's go for a ride."

"Yeah?"

"Let's do. We can get horses at the livery. There's a lake not far from here. We can arrange a picnic lunch from the dining room downstairs and take it with us."

He leaned on his elbow and looked down at her. "Do you really want to?"

"Yes."

"Alright. I'll go get us horses. You see to the lunch. I'll meet ya downstairs when you're ready. But you do have to get dressed, ya know."

She laughed as if that hadn't crossed her mind. "Yes, I know I do. You first."

He sat up in bed and she ran her hand down his chest. "None a that, now, or it'll be another hour before we get out of here."

She rolled the other way in bed and they both got dressed. Half an hour later they were headed northeast of the city, riding until they found Lake Rondo. It was small and secluded, set among a grove of desert willow trees, like the one that grew over Momma's grave. "How about here?" she asked, and he nodded approval.

They dismounted on a grassy spot under the trees and Bret spread the blanket they'd pulled from the bed. The dining room had packed a special lunch and eating was the first order of business. It was tranquil here, and they were both more peaceful than they'd been in weeks. "Do you think we could just stay here?" Althea asked, and she was half-serious.

"What would we do all day?" Bret questioned, and she leaned against him and watched the sky through the trees.

"I bet we could think of something," she giggled.

"Aren't you a genteel little thing this mornin'?"

"I love you, Bret, but I hate to see the way you've been since this whole thing with your father started. Can't the two of you just settle your differences and let it go?"

He looked out over the lake for a minute before responding. He sighed and then answered her question quietly. "I don't know, Thea. Pappy seems determined to 'make things right' with me. Whatever that means. I'd like to just forget the whole thing, but I don't think I can now. Not since I made the mistake of drinkin'. He may never forget that."

"He feels that strongly about liquor?"

"Oh yeah. He feels that strongly about it."

"Was that really the first time . . . . . . . ."

"That I've ever been drunk? Yeah, it was. And in front of Pappy! What was I thinkin'?"

She reached up and ran her fingers down his cheek. It made him shiver. "You weren't. And if he hadn't pushed you, or I'd been able to convince him to stop, he might never have known."

Bret shook his head, resigned that there was going to be hell to pay. "But he does. Good thing he doesn't know about Bart down in Mexico. He'd disown both of us."

"Bart in Mexico? Was that after his wife died?"

"Yeah. I don't know the whole story. Just that there was a real rough time down there."

She glanced up at his face and saw that the worried look had returned. "What is it?"

"Bart. When Ned came back from Fort Worth, he brought some disturbin' news about my brother."

Oh, God. She'd heard some of Bart's escapades from Bret and the man himself. What was he mixed up in now? "What was it?"

He shook his head. "Naw, I don't know anything for sure. Just third-hand information. I sent a telegram; let's see if I can get an answer before I take off chasin' rumors again." He closed his eyes for just a moment and had trouble reopening them. "Scoot over here, Missy. I need to lay down for a minute." Althea moved over and Bret sighed audibly as he lay on the blanket; she shifted right into his arms. "Ah, that's better," he told her and closed his eyes again. Within minutes, he was asleep. She smiled, feeling his warmth and relaxing with him. Life, for just this moment, was perfect.


	18. The End of the World as We Know It

Baby the Rain Must Fall

Chapter 18 – The End of the World as We Know It

The following morning after a leisurely breakfast, Bret retrieved the horse and buggy from the livery and he and Althea started back to Little Bend. They had another beautiful day ahead of them; it was hard to believe that just a few short days ago the heavens had let loose a rainstorm the size of the one that passed over the Taylor Ranch.

Bret was still animated from the time spent in Austin and kept Althea thoroughly entertained all the way back. It was late afternoon by the time they reached the ranch and both were ready for a quiet evening at home. Bret had been up all night before they left Austin, having another successful poker run, and was more than content to stay at the ranch and relax. Althea just wanted to make sure that everything had run smoothly in her absence.

All was quiet on the home front. Ned hadn't heard anything from his friend in Fort Worth and there'd been no response to the telegram he'd sent Bart. Althea fixed supper and they spent the evening exchanging card games – first they played whist, then poker. All was as expected; Althea won at whist and Bret at poker. Bedtime came relatively early with neither one complaining. Bret lay in bed and held Althea for a long time; thinking about everything he was going to deal with the next day when he went over to Uncle Ben's to talk to Pappy. His mind settled on the fact he just wanted Pappy to forgive him for the things he'd said, and hoped that could happen.

His sleep was turbulent; he'd sleep and dream, waking himself up and going back to sleep, starting the cycle all over again. Althea noted his restlessness but was hoping it would be a thing of the past once he dealt with his father. She was up and out of bed early, quietly fixing breakfast. The last thing she wanted was Bret leaving the house with an empty stomach. No distractions when he spoke to his father, she thought; it would be difficult enough as it was. Bret had gotten up and was having his first cup of coffee when someone knocked on the door. Knocked wasn't exactly the right word, someone pounded on the door. 'W _ho in the world?'_ Althea thought. She was surprised to find Bret's cousin Beau standing there.

"Beau! I thought you left for Montana a long time ago. Come in, come in."

Beau held his hat in his hands. "I don't mean to be rude, Althea, but is Bret here? It's important."

Bret heard his cousin's voice and was halfway to the front door. "Cousin Beau! You haven't left yet. What happened? You were ready to go a week ago."

"Bret, I'll explain later. Get your coat; you have to come with me."

Bret stopped walking. "What is it? Bart?"

"No, it's not Bart. Just come with me, please."

"Where are we going?"

"We're going home, Bret."

"Home? To Uncle Ben's? What is it, Beau?"

Beau almost crushed his hat in his hands, he was gripping it so tightly. He was as white as a sheet when he told Bret, "It's your father, Bret. He's dying."

XXXXXXXX

Doctor Simon Petry shook his head. It was the third time he'd been to Ben Maverick's house since yesterday afternoon. He'd just finished examining the man lying in the bed and there was no doubt about either conclusion he'd come to – it was definitely pneumonia, and the patient was getting worse. Since the patient was who-knew-how-old Beauregard Maverick, a man he'd known all his life, he was particularly concerned. Beau was a fighter, but there was no fight left in him. For some unknown reason he'd given up, and Simon couldn't begin to figure out why.

That horrible, wet-sounding cough emanated from the bed again, and Simon continued to shake his head. He just didn't understand. All the other symptoms were there – headache, shortness of breath, intermittent vomiting, chills alternating with fever, and a heart that raced so fast at times Simon was afraid it would burst. The illness had come on suddenly – Beauregard got caught in the rain Wednesday night, came down with the nausea Thursday evening, and had continued getting progressively worse ever since. The fever appeared Friday morning, and the chills joined in by Friday night. Nobody could remember when the cough started, and the phlegm began soon after. His brother Ben and Ben's longtime housekeeper Lily Mae alternated between wiping Beau down with a damp rag and piling more blankets on the bed.

They'd long since given up trying to get anything that vaguely resembled sustenance to stay in Beau's system, and even broth came back up faster than it went down. If they were lucky small swallows of water seemed to hang on, at least temporarily, but with one exception there was nothing else that Simon could do for him. "Ben, can I talk to you?"

Beauregard's younger brother Bentley got up from the chair he was sitting on next to Beau's bedside and followed Simon out of the room. It was time Ben was made aware of the rapidly developing truth. "How is he, Simon?" It was difficult to address someone you've known since they were six years old as 'Doctor'.

"Where's Bret?" Simon asked. "He should be here."

"It's that bad?" Ben asked.

Simon swallowed and put on his best professional manner. "He's getting worse, Ben. There's not much I can do for him. Where is Bret, anyway?"

Ben turned his head away. "He was out of town, Simon. I've sent for him."

"Let's hope he hurries." Ben looked into the younger man's eyes and didn't need to ask anything further. He let out a long sigh and his ramrod-straight back slumped; those were not words he wanted to hear. Simon reached out and grabbed Ben, lest he topple over; Lily Mae came scurrying out of nowhere and took Ben's arm, leading him to a chair to sit down. She poured a glass of water and said something as she handed the glass to him. Once she straightened up, Simon motioned her over.

"Yes sir, Doctor Simon," Lily addressed him as formally as she got.

"Can you make a poultice Lily Mae? I want to try it on Beau's chest, see if we can draw some of that phlegm out. Will you do that for me?"

Lily nodded, not trusting her voice. Simon went over to Ben in the chair and crouched down to talk to him. "Something's happened between him and Bret hasn't it, Ben?"

Ben looked up at the young doctor with tears in his eyes. "I don't know, Simon. He won't tell me. I have to assume so; why do you ask?"

"Because he's given up, Ben. The man in there is not the Beauregard Maverick I know. That is a sad, lonely man who doesn't care anymore if he lives or dies. Has he been like that the whole time?"

Ben nodded, unable to find his voice. Finally, he managed to get a question out. "Are you sure?"

Simon managed a look that said it all, which, fortunately, Ben didn't see. "It's not written in stone, Ben. Can you get a message to Bart? It night help if both his sons were here."

Ben looked up with a small, bitter smile. "That won't work again, Simon."

Confused by Ben's reference to an event he knew nothing about, the doctor asked, "What?"

'Oh, sorry," Ben answered. "I don't know where Bart is, Simon."

Just then Lily Mae returned with something truly wretched looking – the poultice. "Give me a few minutes, Ben, then you can come back in." Simon went into the bedroom and Lily Mae followed closely behind. She pulled the blankets off Beauregard and Simon removed his nightshirt. It was soaking wet; he dropped it on the floor. Lily Mae placed the poultice on Beau's chest and Simon put a clean cloth over it while Lily Mae went to the bureau to get a dry nightshirt. Doc proceeded to wrap the poultice as best he could, doing his utmost to keep it snug against Beau's chest. As a last measure he and Lily replaced the nightshirt, and then the blankets, and tucked them in as tightly as they could. Simon sent Lily Mae out to bring Ben back in and leaned over to whisper in Beauregard's ear, "Fight, Beau, fight. You can't quit now."

Lily held Ben steady as he stumbled back into the room. Even Ben looked old; the pneumonia was taking its toll on everyone. Simon rested his hand on Ben's shoulder, then squeezed it. "I'll come by in the morning, Ben. Get yourself some rest, you're gonna need it." He glanced at Lily Mae and motioned her out of the room, following closely behind him. He moved through the hallway and down the stairs and stopped to talk to her once they'd reached the main room. "Don't let him sit there all night, Lily. He has to get some sleep or he's liable to catch it too. And make sure he eats."

"I will, Doc Simon. Is there anything I can do for Mr. Beau?"

"Keep trying to get water down him. Wait till I get here before you try to give him anything else, alright? I want to see if a night with that poultice on does any good. And Lily? Do whatever you can to make him comfortable."

Simon and Lily Mae both turned suddenly as the front door opened. Beau strode in, but there was still a figure left standing outside in the doorway. Hesitantly he crossed into the house and looked cautiously at Simon. "How is he, Simon?" his oldest son asked.


	19. I'm Your Son

Chapter 19 – I'm Your Son

Simon grabbed Bret by the elbow and pulled him across the room. "Where have you been?"

"Althea and I were in Austin," Bret answered, taken aback to see and hear the anger Simon directed at him. He'd assumed that Beau was over-reacting when he said Pappy was dying; after what Beau had recently been through he wouldn't have expected anything else. From the reception he'd just gotten from Simon everything must be worse than even Beau had made it sound. "What's happened, Simon? Where is he?"

Simon lost his professional decorum. "Where do you think he is? He's upstairs in bed. Didn't Beau tell you anything?"

Bret was completely shaken by Simon's reaction. In all the years he'd known the boy/man/doctor he'd never once seen Simon anything but calm and collected. A thousand miles away from the angry person in front of him. "Is it really that bad?"

Simon let go of Bret's elbow and attempted to settle his nerves. Very rarely had anything pained him as much as the sight of that frail old man lying helpless upstairs. So vital, so articulate, so strong and terrifying when he was angry, the almost lifeless form bore no resemblance whatsoever to the man that made Bret and Bart what they were today. _'Calm down, Simon,_ ' he told himself and took a deep breath. His eyes once again saw his friend standing in front of him, instead of the terrible monster he'd envisioned, and his voice was closer to the doctor the whole valley loved. "It's worse than that. He's dying, Bret, and I have nothing to give him to prevent it. You're the only hope he's got."

He didn't get the response he was hoping for and expecting. Bret shook his head and cast his eyes down at his feet. "I don't think he'll even see me right now, Simon," Bret murmured, barely audible. "Where did this come from?"

"You don't know?" Simon asked, a little gentler than his last statement. "He walked in that cold rain we had Wednesday night, then slept in his wet clothes when he got home. I assume you two had some kind of quarrel – fight – disagreement – that caused the walk?"

Bret's face showed nothing but total dismay. "I . . . . I . . . . I threw . . . . I threw him out. Told him . . . he only had one son. And to go find Bart." Bret covered his eyes with his right hand and grabbed onto Simon's arm with his left. The next thing he said was even quieter and more distraught. There was regret and anguish in the tone. "I caused this, didn't I? I did this to him."

Simon's heart broke with grief for his friend. "No, you didn't cause this. But the walk didn't help. And what possessed him to sleep in wet clothes – God only knows the answer to that one. We can still bring him out of this – but you're going to have to do it. He's given up, Bret. He's found a way out, and he fully intends to take it."

A way out. Yeah, that's exactly what it was. Now Bret needed to find a way out, too – a way out of this mess that he'd at least helped to create. He lowered his hand, then cleared his throat and swallowed hard. "I need to see him, Simon." He let go of the doctor's arm and turned back to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time.

Pappy's door was open, and Ben was still sitting at his bedside. He turned when he heard someone at the door, saw it was Bret, and turned back to the man lying in the bed. He leaned over and whispered something in Beauregard's ear, kissed his brother on the forehead, and got up from his seat. He walked past Bret and out of the room without saying anything, but he reached out and gave his nephew a pat on the arm as he left. Bret cleared his throat again and walked over to his father's bedside. Beauregard's eyes were closed and there was sweat on his brow; Bret couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Pappy so pale. His breath was coming in short, raspy noises, and every few minutes a still-wet-sounding cough racked his body. Bret sat in the recently vacated seat next to the bed and picked up the damp cloth lying in the basin on the chest next to it. He wrung the excess water from the cloth and wiped his father's face and neck, then deposited the cloth back in the basin and laid his hand on Pappy's arm.

"Pappy, it's me. Bret. I came to see you as soon as I heard you were sick. Althea and I were gone to Austin; I didn't know." There was no sound, no movement save for the rise and fall of the blankets on the bed as Beau breathed in and out. "Pa, are you awake? Open your eyes." Still no response. Bret sensed someone behind him and turned to see his uncle standing in the doorway.

"That's the way he's been for two days," Ben murmured. "He's there, but he's not there. When he came down to eat Thursday mornin' he still had on his clothes from the night before – and they were still damp. What happened, Bret?"

"Uncle Ben, I . . . . . . I can't . . . . till I talk to him. Please."

Ben nodded. "Talk fast, boy. We can't afford to lose him." Ben turned and left, closing the door behind him. Bret sat and stared at the closed door for a few minutes, then turned his attention back to the body in the bed.

He tightened his grip on his father's arm. "It's just you an me now, Pappy. I got a lot to say, an you got a lotta listenin' to do." Bret shifted in the chair and sighed; he prayed that his father could hear him. "First off, I couldn't be any sorrier than I am if I tried. I was just gonna have a little brandy to steady my nerves; just one small shot. That worked and I thought another sounded like a good idea. And another. I'm so sorry, Pa. Now I know why you never wanted us to drink. It does somethin' to a man's insides – to his judgement – and it makes it too easy to just not give a damn. I'm sorry I had the gall to ignore your warnin's."

He took a deep breath and went on. "Second, and more important, all that talkin' I did – it was just talkin'. I never believed any a that. I know what affect losin' Momma had on you. I was the one hid the guns, remember? And I know what it took to keep you from followin' her. It don't matter the reason you decided to stay - whether it was me or Bart or some combination a the two of us. You loved us both, and I've always known that. I never, ever thought Bart meant more to you than me. He's got Momma's eyes Pappy, and I don't. When you look at him, you see her. I know that. I've always known that. Where did all this come from, anyway? I just want ya back, Pappy, I want us to start over again. I'm your son. I'M YOUR SON, DAMNIT!" Bret laid his head down on the blankets next to his father and felt his heart catch in his throat. "I'm your son," he murmured once more while everything around him remained still and silent.

He sat like that all afternoon, then all night, occasionally wringing out the wet cloth and wiping his father's brow, sometimes straightening the blankets on the bed, sometimes just resting his head on his hands. He waited, and watched, and prayed. His father never opened his eyes, or spoke a word, or made a sound of any kind. If it wasn't for the almost-silent, rhythmic breathing he would have thought the worst had happened. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it got lighter outside, and finally there was a soft knock at the door. He turned his head and whispered "Come in," and his uncle again appeared in the doorway. It was obvious he'd had the same kind of night his nephew had.

Ben took two steps inside the room. "Any change?" he asked quietly, and Bret shook his head 'no'. "Nothing?" came the second question, and again the answer was 'no'. Finally, "Simon'll be here soon. Why don't you come downstairs and get some coffee?"

Bret finally sat up straight in the chair. "No, Uncle Ben, I'm not leavin' him. Not till he makes up his mind to stay."

Before he knew it Ben was standing behind him, and he laid his hands on Bret's shoulders. "If I bring you a cup will you drink it?"

"Yeah."

Ben patted him on the shoulder and left. A few minutes later the Maverick offspring named for the silent figure came in. "Cousin Bret?"

"Yeah, Beau?"

"Althea's downstairs. She didn't want me to tell you she was here, but I thought you should know. She's been here all night."

"Thanks, Beau."

"Is he any – "

"No."

Beau left, and in a few minutes Ben was back with a cup of coffee. "Here, nephew. Drink this."

Bret took the cup and drank half of it before turning back to his uncle. "Thanks, Ben. Remember how he used to sit up with us when we were sick?"

Ben nodded. "He learned to do that the hard way, Bret. When the Scarlet Fever hit you and your brother. Before that you were Momma all the time."

"I just remember him by our beds." He paused long enough to take another swallow of coffee. "Do you think he knows we're here?"

Ben shook his head. "I don't know, boy. I talked to him for two days and he never so much as flinched. Maybe he knows, maybe he don't. But we know, and that's the important part." Ben covered his mouth with his hand and yawned.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Bret asked.

Ben shook his head. "Laid down. Stared at the ceilin'. Thought about what I'd do if . . . . . I ain't ready for another grave up on that hill, Bret."

So soft that they weren't sure they'd heard it, a low moan came from the bed. "Pappy?" Bret asked, but got no answer. Bret got up and let Ben sit in the chair, and they waited to see if they heard anything else. All remained quiet until another soft knock at the door startled them both. They turned as one and it was Lily Mae with the coffee pot and a cup for Ben.

"I'm makin' breakfast down there, and I expect both of ya to be eatin' some of it. And don't even try arguin' with me." Bret started to say something, but Lily Mae stopped him. "No arguin', Bret Maverick. I'll send Althea up with plates for both of ya, and they better come back clean. He given any sign a comin' outta it?"

Bret shook his head. "We thought maybe, for a minute, but nothin' since. How's Althea?"

"Bout the same as you'd expect her to be. Beau come up an told ya she was here, huh?"

"Yeah."

"She's been a big help. She feels bad, you two bein' away an all. I told her it wasn't her fault."

Bret shook his head. "No, it wasn't her fault. Thanks, Lily."

Lily turned to leave the room and then turned back. "Ya know, sometimes God's just so busy that it takes him a while to get to things. Like it is with Mr. Beau. So keep sayin' those prayers, alright?"

Ben nodded; Bret just stared after her as she disappeared into the hall. How did she know that he'd almost given up praying because it seemed God wasn't listening? "That woman is amazing."

"Why do you think I've paid dearly all these years to keep her?" Ben asked.

Another small moan was heard from the bed and this time both Mavericks were sure they'd heard it. Still nothing else followed it; Pappy hadn't moved all night. Ben sighed and looked up at Bret; it was Bret's turn to settle his hand reassuringly on his Uncle's shoulder. "He'll come back to us, Uncle Ben. He has to."


	20. Inching Forward

Chapter 20 – Inching Forward

Ben was sitting in the chair at the bedside and Bret was leaning on the end of the bed when Althea brought two plates of food into the room. It wasn't complicated; scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. She handed the first plate to Ben and he set it in his lap and stared at it as if it were the most vile tasting thing on earth. She gave the second plate to Bret and he took it from her, then turned around and set it down on the tall chest that sat next to Pappy's bed. "Please eat something, Bret. It's been over 24 hours since you had anything. Ben, Lily Mae told me to tell you she'd quit and never come back if you didn't eat. And that she's serious."

Ben glanced at Althea, saw the grave look on her face, and picked up his fork. He did not take threats from Lily Mae lightly. Just as Beauregard had done when Ben forced food on him after Belle's death, Ben chewed and swallowed the tasteless food. Bret looked into Althea's pleading eyes and picked up a piece of bacon, folded it down to nothing and put it in his mouth. He loved Lily Mae's cooking, but this was like eating straw. He chewed and swallowed and Thea gave him a grateful look. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, then leaned down and kissed Ben, too, leaving the room quickly afterwards. Ben and Bret exchanged glances and Bret shrugged his shoulders, picking up another piece of bacon and doing his best to eat that one, too.

Without warning a terrible coughing spasm shook Beauregard, and Bret rushed over to Ben's side of the bed. It was the first sound they'd heard from Beau in hours, and it didn't have the wet sound his last one had. The last few seconds of the cough were heard by Simon Petry, who'd arrived amidst all the noise and not been heard by either of the men at the bedside. "Sounds drier than it did last night," he commented, and Bret and Ben turned on him in unison.

"Simon, make some noise when you arrive," Bret told him, and Ben nodded in agreement.

"I did," the doctor answered, "but you two were slightly distracted. Alright, I need both of you out of here for now. Come on, that's good boys, let me see how my patient is this morning. And send Lily Mae up here, would you please?" Simon set his medical bag on the chair Ben had just vacated, and he used both hands to shoo them out of the room, closing the door behind them. Both men still held their plates, which were mostly full of food. Lily Mae came up the stairs and looked from the plates to the two faces staring back at her, then shook her head.

"You two are useless," she told them. "Go downstairs and eat what I gave you." She walked right past them and into the bedroom, once again closing the door. Ben and Bret exchanged looks and went back downstairs, stopping in the kitchen. Beau was sitting at the table, just beginning his breakfast, and Althea hovered over all three, pouring coffee and refilling cups.

"I guess we better eat it, Uncle Ben," Bret remarked, and Ben nodded his head.

"If we don't . . . . . . " Ben left the thought unfinished; they knew what Lily Mae had threatened. Both men convinced themselves to clean their plates, and were glad when that was over. A few minutes later Lily came back downstairs and gathered all the ingredients she needed for another poultice, and took Althea with her when she left to go back to Pappy's room. They returned about thirty minutes later; Lily had orders to send Ben and Bret back up. She saw the empty plates on the table and smiled, satisfied that they'd eaten something. Bret refrained from bounding up the stairs and followed his Uncle at a respectable distance.

Simon was just finishing tucking the blankets around Beauregard again, and he turned to the men as they entered the room with a slight smile on his face. "I've changed the poultice; it seems to be helping some. Lily knows how to fix it now; she and Althea are going to change it this afternoon before I come back by. He had another coughing spasm while we were working and the cough definitely sounds drier than it did, and not as raw and raspy. The thing that troubles me is the fact that his fever doesn't seem to have changed any. Was he conscious at all last night?"

Ben looked at Bret, who shook his head. "I talked to him, a lot, but never got any indication that he heard me at all."

"Alright, we're going to have to do our best to wake him. I've got to start getting water down him. Once we've got that going, we can try some broth later today. I don't want him starving to death. He needs something in his stomach. Go get me some fresh water, would you, Bret?"

Simon handed him the pitcher and he left the room reluctantly. It was evident Doc wanted to talk to Ben privately, and Bret wanted to know just what the doctor had to say. He went downstairs and filled the pitcher with fresh water while Lily Mae watched him. "Doc Petry wanted to talk to your uncle, huh?" she asked, and Bret nodded.

"He's not gonna get off that easy," Bret remarked, and hurried as best he could with a full pitcher of water. By the time he got back up to Pappy's room Simon had finished whatever it was he wanted to say to Ben, and Bret poured about half a glass of the new water and brought it over to the bedside.

"Beauregard, it's time to wake up now. We've got some water for you," Simon told Beau as he shook him gently by the shoulder. Another of those low moans passed Beau's lips, and ever so slowly he opened his eyes.

They were clouded and unfocused, and it took a few minutes before he weakly whispered, "Simon?"

The doctor smiled and answered, "Yes, sir, it's me. Your brother and your son are here, too. You can see them in just a minute. Right now I need to get some water in you." Doc turned his head to Bret. "Can you lift his head so he can drink?"

Bret nodded and slid his arm under Pappy's pillow, lifting both the pillow and his father's head. Beau glanced sideways and saw it was Bret, then looked back at Simon, who'd raised the glass to Beau's lips. He drank almost half a glass before pulling his head back and whispering "Enough."

Simon watched the mix of emotions cross Bret's face. "Do that about every hour," Simon told him, "and when I come back tonight we'll try some broth."

"Anything else?" Bret asked as he lowered Pappy's head and pillow back to the bed.

Simon called over his shoulder, "Ben, come over here." He got out of Ben's way and left Ben and Bret directly in Beau's line of vision. "See, they're both here. They've been here for quite a while."

Beauregard smiled slightly. "Tired," he whispered, and closed his eyes again.

Bret glanced worriedly at the doctor. "It's alright, Bret. His fever hasn't broken; his body is still fighting pneumonia. He needs to sleep." Simon put his hand on Bret's arm. "Come out into the hall with me."

Bret headed for the hallway, and Simon followed behind him after saying something briefly to Ben. Simon closed the door and walked Bret down the hall, towards the room that had been his. "What did you talk to Ben about before?" Bret asked before Simon could get a word out.

"I told him the same I'm going to tell you. He's not out of the woods yet. There doesn't seem to be as much phlegm, but that doesn't mean his lungs are anywhere near clear. The fever is what has me worried. That seems to be the most stubborn part of this. Make sure you keep giving him water; he needs it desperately. And stay with him. Just you being there helps. We've got a way to go yet, but at least we're inching in the right direction. Did you get a chance to talk to him?"

Bret nodded. "I don't know if he heard me or not. But I'll tell him as many times as I need to."

"Get some sleep, my friend. You and Ben both, you have to be exhausted. And keep a careful eye on Ben. He doesn't need to come down with it, too. Lily will change the poultice later today, and don't forget the water. I'll be back this afternoon. And I want to hear that you've gotten some sleep by then. Understood?"

"Yes, Simon. Understood. I'll make sure Ben gets some sleep."

"You too," Simon called as he walked back into Pappy's room. A minute later he emerged again, medical bag in hand. "Remember, sleep."

Bret followed Simon down the stairs and out the front door. They shook hands before Simon got in his buggy. "Thanks, Simon. For everything."

"Don't thank me until your father's up and his cranky old self. We've got a fight on our hands. At least now we may have a chance. You did that, friend."

The doctor picked up the buggy whip and urged his horse forward. "Later," he called out, and headed down the road to town.

Bret dropped into one of the rockers on the porch and pulled out a cigar. He needed a minute to digest everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. He smoked most of the cigar while he rocked and wondered if Pappy had heard anything Bret told him. He hoped so, but there was one thing he knew for sure. If he had to repeat it all again, he would. Every word of it. Every. Single. Word.


	21. The Late Beauregard Maverick

Chapter 21 – The Late Beauregard Maverick

The day crawled forward, with only minor changes. Almost every hour someone woke Beauregard to make sure he kept drinking water; Ben was finally convinced to try laying down again when he fell asleep sitting in the chair next to his brother's bed. Bret assumed Ben's chair and kept wiping his father's face and neck with the wet cloth to provide some relief from the fever that wouldn't lose its hold on Pappy.

Sometime around noon Althea appeared briefly at the bedroom door. "Any change at all?" she asked quietly, and Bret nodded.

"He's not coughing near as much as before."

"That's a good sign, isn't it?"

"I don't know, Thea. I don't know what's good or bad anymore. I just know it's different."

She waited a minute before speaking again. "Ned came by. That man I wanted to talk to about the ranch foreman job – he's at the house now. I'm going back there for a while to talk to him. I don't suppose you can come with me?"

He shook his head. "No. Sorry. I won't leave here. You've got good judgement – trust your own instincts."

"Alright, I will. Have you slept any yet?"

"No."

She walked over to where he sat and bent down to kiss him. "When Ben comes back, alright?" She ruffled his hair before she turned and left.

"Mmmmhmmm," he answered belatedly.

Shortly after that Lily Mae came in to change the poultice and shooed him out so she could work. He wandered downstairs and poured another cup of coffee before running into Beau. "I can tell from your face the answer to my question," Beau told him before clapping him on the shoulder. "Maybe it means he's fightin', Bret. Better than givin' up."

Bret nodded. "I hope so. Is Uncle Ben asleep?"

"Yeah, I just looked in there. Finally. When Lily's done upstairs, why don't you try to do the same? I'll sit with Uncle Beau for a while."

"Thanks, Beau, but I'm not leavin' him. I promised I'd be there and I'm not goin' anywhere. Just keep an eye on your father, would ya? Simon's worried Uncle Ben is liable to come down with it, too."

"I'll watch out for him, Bret. Althea leave?"

"Yeah. She's lookin' for a ranch foreman and the man she's been waitin' for finally got to town, so she went to talk to him. Life goes on, huh?"

Beau nodded his head. "Heard anything from Bart?"

"Nope, and that's a concern, too. Last I heard he was bein' chased by outlaws and a posse. I need to get a wire to New Orleans to see if I can find him, but I'm not runnin' into town for that."

"Lily Mae needs supplies and I'm takin' her later today. I can send it for you."

"Good. I'll write it out for ya. And Beau – thanks. Hope we got no reason to find him, but I wanna know he's alright."

"Understood. I'll check with you later." Beau wandered back out of the kitchen, and Bret refilled his cup before going back upstairs. He waited outside Pappy's door for Lily to be finished, and in just a few minutes she came out of the room.

"He's awake just now," she told Bret, and he hurried in.

"Pappy?" It was a question and a statement at the same time.

Beau's head turned slowly, minutely, until he could see his firstborn. The corners of his mouth inched upward in his version of a smile. "Bret. My boy." It was whispered and barely audible, but they were the sweetest words Bret had ever heard in his life. Beauregard's eyes closed almost immediately.

"Pappy, stay here, stay with me. Please, Pappy. Don't go back there again."

Beau's eyes didn't reopen, but he got out more words. "Still here."

"Pa, I love you. I'm proud to be your son, do ya hear me? Proud." He reached out and grabbed his father's arm through all the blankets.

Another small smile. "Hear ya."

"I'm sorry. Oh God, I'm so sorry. If I could change it all, I would."

This time, Beau didn't answer and Bret listened carefully to see if he could still hear breathing. After a few seconds he let out a sigh when he determined that Pappy had gone back to sleep. He sat down in the chair and spent long minutes watching the gentle rise and fall of the blankets on the bed. Had Pappy heard him? Did he understand what Bret said? Would he remember it if he lived? Would he live? Oh God, would he live?

' _Enough of that'_ he told himself. _'You've done that before, it does no one any good.'_ Yet he couldn't stop his mind from going there, to the 'what would happen if Pappy died?' place. It was practically all he could think about. It was the first and last thought on his mind, and when he finally couldn't keep his own eyes open any longer, it was still uppermost in his mind. Bret wasn't given to dreaming very often; that seemed to be something his brother was more inclined to do. But his emotions were in such turmoil that he couldn't help it. He wasn't cognizant of falling asleep, so he was sure that he was awake and it was really happening.

 _It was cold and windy, especially for this time of year in Texas, and the branches of the desert willow tree blew everywhere while the box was slowly lowered into the ground. Bret's hands were almost frozen, and he held them up to his mouth and blew on them to try to get some feeling back into his fingers. He was standing at the foot of the newly-dug grave, with his brother Bart next to him. Bart didn't look cold; maybe it was just an illusion. The actual burial began as the shovel was passed, one to the other, so that everyone had a chance to throw dirt in the final resting spot for the pine box. He looked around; the little hillside graveyard was crowded with people. Some he'd known all his life, some were fairly new to the valley and had known Beauregard Maverick by word-of-mouth only. All three saloons in Little Bend were closed; everyone was here. Maude Donovan wiped her eyes and threw a flower into the grave, and it was quickly covered by dirt._

 _By the time the shovel got to Bret it was almost finished. He took half of the dirt still waiting to be redeposited into the ground, and left the rest for his brother. He handed the shovel to Bart and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. The minister said a few final words and it was over. Pappy and Momma were finally reunited. Slowly the people began to leave, and soon the only ones left at the grave were Bentley, Beau and Lily Mae, Bret and Althea, and Bart. Tears ran down Uncle Ben's face and Beau gripped his father by both arms and took him to the buggy, then came back and got Lily Mae and Althea. Beau drove away without looking back at the three graves that now occupied the plot of land. Bret turned to his brother._

" _Bart . . . . . ." he started, and his brother looked at him with eyes full of hatred._

" _No, Bret. I told you I'd stand with you until Pappy was in the ground. It's over. Far as I'm concerned my brother's gone, just like Pappy."_

" _Bart – " this time he reached out and grabbed his brother by the arm. Bart shrugged him off._

" _Go to hell. You killed him, just like you'd put a gun to his head. You're dead to me." Bart put his hat on and walked to his horse, tied to the tree; mounted, and rode away._

 _Bret looked at the newly disturbed ground in front of him and felt his heart rip in two. He'd lost everything – his father and his brother, his uncle, cousin and surrogate mother, and Althea, the woman he loved. He walked to his mother's grave and sat down in the dirt. The tears came then, hot and fast, and all he could do was cry "Why?"_

 _When the tears dried at last, he got up and rode back to Uncle Ben's house. The front door was draped with a black wreath and it was locked. Everything he owned was piled on the front porch. Conspicuous by its absence was Momma's Bible. Evidently Bart had reclaimed possession of the book._

 _He picked up the bags of his belongings and mounted his horse, heading down to the river. There was only one thing left to do, and he was headed there to take care of it now._

He woke with a start, his heart pounding and in a cold sweat. He sat up quickly and cast his eyes about frantically; it took almost five full minutes for the truth to sink it – Pappy was still alive. They were in his bedroom at Ben's house – he'd fallen asleep and dreamt the whole thing. He let out a relieved breath and sat up straight just as he heard someone at the bedroom door. It was Simon, and he had Althea with him.


	22. Unraveling the Threads

Chapter 22 – Unraveling the Threads

"Bret."

A single word, spoken by the woman he was in love with. It meant everything, and it meant nothing. "What?"

"You were – I don't know. Where were you?"

Bret shook his head, trying to clear both the cobwebs and the dream out. "I was asleep. Sorry. Simon, is it that time already?"

Simon made his way around the other side of the bed. "Yep, it's almost six o'clock. How's Beauregard doing?"

"He was awake before. Lily changed the poultice and he was awake for a little after that."

"Awake, huh? How was he? Coherent? Lucid?"

"Both, I think. Not for long, but he answered a couple questions for me. Then he went back to sleep."

"Nothing since then?"

"I'm . . . . I'm not sure. I fell asleep."

"Okay. Althea, get him out of here. Go feed him something."

Bret got up from the chair and walked over to Althea. She took his arm and steered him down the hall. "How long did you sleep?"

"Half an hour, hour maybe. Not long. And not well. Althea, I'm not hungry."

"Have you eaten since this morning?" She was walking him down the stairs.

"Eaten? Food? No."

Ben was in the kitchen drinking coffee. "I was just about to get you, nephew. You need some sleep. I'll take over for a while. And don't tell me no. Althea, make him listen to me, would ya?"

She smiled at Ben. "I'll do my best, Ben. Sit down here. Lily Mae has fixed supper, and you're eating something."

"Where is Lily, anyway?"

Ben answered him. "Beau took her to Little Bend for supplies. Things been gettin' a bit thin around here."

"Dang it. Beau was gonna send a telegram for me."

"To New Orleans? You gave it to him already."

Bret looked startled. "No, Uncle Ben, I didn't."

That caused Ben to look confused. "Sure you did. He showed it to me. Somethin' askin' Bart if he needed help? And usin' your 'Maverick-less' names."

"You know about that?" Bret asked his uncle.

"Who do you think did it first?" Ben asked, chuckling slightly. "Beauregard and I weren't exactly angels when we were younger, ya know."

"But I never saw him again after . . . . how did he . . . . I never gave him the message to send."

"You are tired, boy. Ask him yerself when he gets back. And go get some sleep."

Althea put a plate of food in front of him. "Eat first."

Simon came bounding into the kitchen. "Althea, since Lily Mae's not here, can you come help me with the poultice? And bring some fresh water too, please. Ben, you look better. Bret, you look worse. Go get some sleep when you're done eating. Althea?"

Simon left the kitchen the same way he'd come in, and Althea scurried to keep up with him. Ben took a hard look at Bret. "How about some answers, Bret?"

"To what, Uncle Ben?"

"What happened last Wednesday?"

"I still haven't talked to Pappy," Bret answered quietly, between bites of . . . . . something.

"Did you or did you not have a disagreement?"

"I wouldn't call it that."

"What would you call it?"

Bret thought for a minute. "A one-sided battle with an unarmed man."

"A one-sided . . . . . . what the hell does that mean?"

"I was . . . . less than gentlemanly with Pappy." Bret smiled slightly, to try and dilute the strength of the words.

"Beauregard said something about liquor. Were you drinkin'?"

Bret closed his eyes and said a prayer. "I was."

"You? Drinkin'?"

Fortunately Althea came back in at that moment and Ben stopped the questioning. "Simon's ready for you all to come back."

Ben got up and glared at his nephew, then left the kitchen. Bret was relieved to quit eating and followed his uncle upstairs. Simon was rolling the sleeves of his shirt back down when they entered the room.

"How is he, Simon?"

"He's holding his own, Ben. The poultice is definitely helping. His cough is less frequent and much less phlegmy-sounding. That's the good news. The bad news is the fever seems to be holding its own, too. It's a little higher than it was before. Althea's bringing up some broth that Lily left. We're gonna try to get that down him. Will you two stay?"

Both nodded and Bret sat down to get in position to lift his father's head. Althea entered a minute later with a mug of broth and handed it to Simon. "Beauregard, I need you to open your eyes. Bret is going to raise your head so you can try to drink this. It's broth. Beauregard, do you hear me?"

"Yeah," the answer came, very faint. Beau's eyelids fluttered and his eyes opened just a slit.

Simon nodded and Bret once again picked up his father's pillow, thus raising his head to a better angle from which to drink. Simon held the cup to his lips and Beau took a swallow, followed by another. The doctor pulled the cup back and they waited a moment. Nothing untoward happened, and Simon brought the cup back up to Beau's mouth. Two or three swallows more and the procedure was repeated again, until the cup was empty. "Good job, Beauregard," Doc told him, and nodded at Bret to lay his father's pillow back down, which Bret proceeded to do.

Simon looked up at the two Mavericks and wondered if there was something going on that he wasn't aware of. Bret looked like he'd just been kicked in the stomach, and Ben stood about three feet behind his nephew with his arms crossed on his chest, glaring at Bret. "Uh, something wrong, gentlemen?" Simon asked.

Bret shook his head 'no' and Ben said nothing. "Alright, I've done as much damage as I can for one night. I'll be by in the morning. Try to get another cup of broth down him sometime after midnight. I don't want to give him too much too fast. And Bret, for God's sake, get some sleep. I'm getting tired of saying it." He picked up his medical bag and took it, along with the cup, downstairs. A minute or two later Bret heard the front door open and close, and he knew Simon was gone. He waited for Ben to say something, anything, but it was more than five minutes before he did.

"Go to your old room and get some sleep, Bret. And don't argue with me or I'll start askin' questions again; I've got plenty of 'em left. Go on, git."

Bret reached over and patted his father's arm, lying on top of the blankets. "Night, Pappy. Love you." He got up from the chair and walked past Ben, who moved over to the chair Bret had just vacated. "Night, Uncle Ben."

"Hmmmpf," Ben responded as Bret left the room, closing the door behind him. He was finally so exhausted he couldn't argue about staying awake any longer. He walked down the hall to his old room and sat down on the bed. Slowly he pulled his boots off, then removed his coat and threw it over the chair. He lay down and closed his eyes, and almost before he could get settled in the bed he was asleep. This time there were no dreams.


	23. Scattershot

Chapter 23 – Scattershot

He had no idea how long he'd been asleep; he just knew that Pappy was screaming and he had to wake up. He scrambled out of bed, that thick Southern drawl echoing everywhere in the house, and ran in bare feet down the hall. By the time he reached Pappy's door everyone else in the house was visible, in various stages of dress or undress, save for Bentley, who was presumed to be inside the room. Bret, being the first one there, threw the door open and was greeted by the sight of his father attempting to climb out of bed, screaming "Belle! Belle! Where are you?" at the top of his lungs and Ben doing his best to keep Beauregard right where he was.

"What happened? What's going on?" Bret had to yell to be heard over the caterwauling as he did his best to help Ben subdue the totally irrational man. "Pappy! Pappy, settle down, it's alright. I'm here." Beau kept thrashing about and calling frantically for his wife for another four or five minutes, until exhaustion overcame him and he began to quiet down. "Uncle Ben?" The unspoken questions were the same as those first asked when Bret entered the room.

Ben shook his head, pushed almost to the point of exhaustion himself. "I don't know, Bret. I was reading to him and all of a sudden his eyes were open and he began screaming for Isabelle. I made the mistake of tellin' him Belle was long gone and that's when he tried to get up. I don't know what set him off."

"What were you reading?" Bret asked, doing his best to avoid the flailing arms that still punctuated the sounds coming from the bed.

"' _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,'"_ Ben answered. "I found it on the bureau and thought I'd read some to him."

Finally, most of the frantic thrashing in the bed had settled back down, and Bret did his best to restore the bed to some semblance of order, straightening Pappy's pillow and smoothing out the bedcovers. "That was my mother's book," he told his Uncle, and he could hear footsteps in the hall as everyone slowly returned to their rooms. "There was no way for you to know."

"He was almost delusional," Ben remarked. "He hasn't been like that since the night – "

"Yeah, I know," Bret answered. "He's had the fever too long, Ben. Why doesn't it go away?"

Ben reached out and laid his hand on Bret's shoulder. Their earlier testy encounter was forgiven and forgotten, at least temporarily. "I don't know, boy. At least he seems to be fighting, now. That's more than he did before you got here. Go on back to bed, I'll sit here with him. No more reading, though."

Bret shook his head. "What time is it?"

Ben pulled out his watch. "Almost three in the mornin'."

"I've had enough," came the reply. He reached up and felt the scraggly beard that had started to grow. "But I need to do a few things to clean up. I'm gonna take one a Pappy's shirts and see if I can get human again. I'll be right back."

"Take your time. I'm wide awake."

Bret padded back down to the room he'd been sleeping in and found Althea there waiting for him. "You stayed here last night?" he questioned as he gathered her into his arms.

"I did. I thought I was needed more here than at home."

He could smell her hair as he rested his head on top of hers. "You smell way better than I do."

"Nothing wrong with you that a shave wouldn't fix." Just to prove it she reached up to kiss him. She was rewarded with an ironic smile.

"That's what I came down to do. Why don't you go back to sleep?"

"No, I'm going to get dressed and go help Lily Mae. Beau brought in all the supplies last night, but they still need to be put away. Then I can bring you and Ben coffee. I have the feeling you're going to need it."

"I have to talk to Cousin Beau. When he finally rouses himself out of bed, send him upstairs to see me, would ya?"

"I will," she answered, and kissed him again. He held her close for another minute, feeling the warmth from her body and using the feeling to help shake the last remnants of sleep from him.

He kissed her and then held her at arm's length. "Better get goin', before I get distracted," he told her, and she reluctantly left the room. He tried to do some cleaning up, including shaving and changing into Pappy's shirt, and tried putting his boots back on. He almost had to fight with them; his feet were swollen from standing for so long and protested being forced back into their 'prison.' Dressed at last, he went back down the hall to Pappy's room and found Ben talking to his father.

"Is he awake?" was Bret's question upon entering the room.

"He was, for a couple minutes. Said he had to get up and get you and Bart off to school. I convinced him it was Saturday and he could sleep in."

"Still doesn't know that's all in the past. Wonder what Simon'll think a that?"

"We'll find out soon enough. You look better. Feel like talkin'?"

Bret sighed. He could only put this off so long. "Only if you promise not to wake Pappy back up."

Ben shook his head. "I'll do my best, nephew. Sit down." Ben had pulled another chair over to the bedside and pointed to it. Bret took the seat and leaned his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together in anticipation of the difficult conversation.

"Tell me what happened. I'll keep my mouth shut until you're done."

"I'm not entirely sure, Uncle Ben. I wasn't just drinkin' - I was drunk." He looked up at his uncle, who was sitting with his lips pressed together in an effort to remain quiet. When Ben said nothing, Bret continued. "He'd been pushin' this idea that I needed to be convinced he cared about me the same as Bart. I didn't need convincin', Ben; I already knew that. But he was like a dog chewin' on a bone – just wouldn't or couldn't let it go. Maybe he thought I had that notion since Bart somehow grew up with just the opposite idea – that Pappy had a favorite and it was me. I had brandy at the house, an stupidly thought it was a good idea to have some to steady my nerves on Wednesday. I was waitin' for another round of attempted convincin', and couldn't persuade him to let it go. That's all I wanted – just let it go."

Bret paused to take a breath and Ben sat deathly still, both expecting and fearing what he was about to hear. "I put some in my coffee, and it seemed to help at first. Then Pappy started in, and I kept refillin' my coffee and the brandy. A little further down the road it was less coffee and more liquor. And then - I don't know what happened. He said somethin' and I said somethin' and it just got worse. Till I told him he only had one son . . . . . . and it wasn't me."

The room was silent. Noises were drifting up from downstairs, kitchen noises, and Bret knew Althea was putting away last night's supplies. And hopefully making some coffee to sooth the frayed nerves upstairs. Ben hadn't moved or said anything, as promised, since Bret had begun talking, but he finally broke his silence. "What else, Bret? There's somethin' more, ain't there?" His voice was calm and steady, almost sympathetic. Surely Beauregard had pushed his siblings the same way he pushed his sons – until he either got the answer he was looking for or caused an explosion of epic proportions. And when Bret's reply came, it was devastating.

"I told him to get out."


	24. Sleeping With the Hounds

Chapter 24 – Sleeping with the Hounds

"You – what?" It was said quietly, incredulously.

"I told him to get out, Ben."

"And then . . . . . . . . "

"I don't know. I stumbled into the bedroom and passed out."

Ben sat for a moment, then thought of something. "What about Althea? Was she there?"

Bret nodded. "Yes."

The young widow picked just that moment to enter the room, carrying a tray with three cups and a coffee pot. "Good timing," Ben remarked.

"Oh? Really?"

"We were talking about last Wednesday," Ben explained.

"Oh."

Bret took the tray from her and set it on the chest. Althea poured coffee and handed Ben a cup, then Bret, and finally one for herself. "Not a good night to talk about."

"No, it wasn't, but Ben asked what happened and I was doin' my best to tell him. Can you fill in the blanks?"

"I'll try," Althea answered. "What do you want to know, Ben?"

"What happened after Bret . . . . uh, left the room?"

"Do I really . . . . alright, Beauregard got to his feet after a minute. I could see tears in his eyes. I tried to get him to sit back down and he shoved me aside and rushed out the front door. I tried to talk him out if it, told him to wait and I'd drive him home. He wouldn't stop and walked right out into the pouring rain. I called after him and he just kept going, and when I couldn't see him anymore I went back inside to check on Bret."

"That's all? Nothin' else?" Ben sounded uncertain.

"That's all, Ben. Did I miss something?" Althea inquired.

"I don't . . . . . I don't know. When Beauregard came down the next mornin' he was full a mud an dirt. I have no idea how he got that way. He wasn't like that when he left the ranch?"

Althea shook her head. "No. Just wet. But what difference does it make?"

Ben shook his head. "None, I guess. But maybe – "

"But maybe what?" asked a voice from the doorway.

Bret looked up to see Simon Petry standing there. "Aren't you a little early?

"It's almost six-thirty. I may already have patients waiting for me in town. Althea, can I get a cup of that? Sure smells good. How is he this morning?"

"He had a couple of strange episodes last night, Simon," Ben volunteered.

The doctor turned sideways to face Ben. "What do you mean 'strange', Ben?"

"The first one – I was readin' to him from a book that belonged to Belle. Suddenly he started yellin' for her, and when I told him she wasn't here he shrieked and tried to get out of bed, almost like she'd just died."

"Hmmm. And the second?"

"Yeah, the next time he told me he had to get Bret and Bart ready for school. He settled down when I told him it was Saturday."

"Good thinking. How physical was he during the first episode?"

"He was almost violent, Simon," Bret answered. "It took both of us to hold him. I think the only reason he settled down was because he wore himself out."

Simon rubbed his chin. "So both times he thought it was the past?"

"Yeah. Is there somethin' we're missin'?"

Just then Althea returned with a cup and poured Simon some coffee. "Delusions. Delirium. From the prolonged fever, I assume. How's the coughing been?"

"Non-existent," Ben answered. "I haven't heard him cough in hours."

Bret shook his head. "Neither have I."

"Alright. We'll work with the poultice one more day and then stop and see what we're dealing with. He's keeping the broth and the water down?"

"For the last three days, yeah."

"Mmmhmmm, then we need to move on. See if Lily Mae can make some soup – we'll try that when I come by tonight. As for the fever – has he had aspirin before? Ben?"

"As far as I know, Simon. Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to give him some, Ben, and Bret's told me about Bart's allergy. He didn't get it from Beauregard, eh?"

Ben shook his head. "Nope, Simon. Not from Beauregard."

Althea poured coffee for everyone and then went back downstairs with the empty coffee pot. "That's one heck of a woman, Bret," Simon commented.

"Don't I know it. What about the aspirin, Simon?"

"We'll give him one now and see if it helps. If it doesn't hurt, we can give him another when I come back tonight. Keep giving him the water, as much as you can get him to drink. Wake him up if you have to. We've got to get that fever down."

As if on cue, Lily Mae appeared in the doorway with makings for another poultice. "Alright you two, get on out. Althea's downstairs cookin' breakfast. For you too, Simon." She glanced up at the doctor with a knowing look. "Let's get this done so you can eat some."

Ben and Bret left the room to the 'professionals'. "Uncle Ben . . . . . . "

Ben was two or three steps ahead of Bret and he waited for his nephew to catch up with him. "Are we alright?"

Bentley threw his nephew a 'Maverick look.' "Alright? No, Bret, we're not alright. Ya threw yer father out of yer house; I don't care what the excuse was. I've still got questions only Beauregard can answer, and I'll not give ya any more grief till I can talk to him. That's the best answer I've got for ya."

Bret bowed his head; he wasn't thrilled with the answer, but he understood. Just as he was about to say something else to his uncle, his cousin's door opened. "And good morning to you, too, even if you did pick my door to argue in front of."

"No argument, son, just a meetin' of the minds." Ben walked the rest of the way down the hall, leaving his son and his nephew standing at Beau's door.

"Is there something going on that I should know about?" Beau asked innocently.

"I'll tell you the whole sordid story later. Needless to say, I'm currently consigned to sleep out in the yard with the hounds. Althea's cookin' breakfast, you so inclined?"

"Food? When did I ever turn down food? Let's go."

Bret draped his arm over Beau's shoulders, and they walked downstairs to breakfast.


	25. Broken

Chapter 25 – Broken

It was a full breakfast table, even if two of its occupants weren't doing a lot of eating. Simon and Beau made up for the two that were more or less disinterested in food. Ben and Bret feigned attention to their eggs and bacon, moving the food around on the plate, and Bret didn't object when Beau reached over and stole a piece of his bacon. Althea sat next to Simon and joined them for breakfast.

"I wouldn't call that eating," the doctor finally commented. "You have to put some of it in your mouth and chew it, then swallow it."

"Is that your professional opinion, doctor?" Bret asked as he moved more food around on his plate before putting a forkful of it in his mouth.

"Yes, it is," Simon answered, and Althea smiled. She was amused by Simon, which was evident.

Ben had just taken a swallow of coffee when Lily Mae's voice could be heard above everything else. "DOC PETRY! Come quick!"

Simon jumped up and ran, hastily followed by the rest of the group. As the doctor took the stairs two at a time, he yelled out to the housekeeper, "Lily! What's wrong?"

Sprinting down the hallway, he was at the bedroom door and could see for himself what had caused her to summon him. Beauregard was having a convulsion. "Lily Mae, get out!" Simon ordered, and Lily didn't hesitate to obey. "Bret, come in here. Everybody else, out!" Simon slammed the door as soon as Bret was in the room. "I want you here if it gets any worse. Just stand there, and don't do anything unless I tell you."

Bret felt helpless. His father was shaking and moaning; the doctor in Simon was trying as best he could to calm and sooth Beauregard while preventing injuries to either one of them. Bret felt his stomach lurch in response to what he was witnessing and fought to concentrate on his father and ignore his own insides.

Beau thrashed and shook, drooling and moaning, for four or five more minutes. Bret stood by waiting for Simon's instructions, which never came. So gradually it felt like they were in slow motion, the shaking and trembling of the uncontrollable movements began to dwindle. "Simon?" Bret finally asked, desperately wanting to do anything to help. Simon nodded but said nothing, never taking his eyes off his patient. When Beauregard finally lay still in the bed, Simon wiped Beau's face and mouth with the cloth Lily Mae had left on the bedside table and looked briefly at Bret.

"I think it's over," the doctor announced, and Bret let out the breath he'd been holding. "Here, wash this out for me, would you?" and he handed the rag to Bret for cleaning in the basin of water on the chest. When Bret brought the cloth back to Simon, he used it to again wipe Beauregard's face.

"What was that?"

Simon sighed as he answered. "His body's reaction to the fever that wouldn't break, I think. That's the best guess I've got right now. Let's hope it takes the fever with it. Hand me my bag, would you?" Bret grabbed the medical bag from the chair where Simon had left it and handed it over. The doctor reached in and pulled out his thermometer and very gently placed it inside Beau's mouth. They waited silently, each man saying his own kind of prayer, and when Simon pulled it out and read the temperature he smiled just a bit. He finally turned to Bret and relayed the news very softly. "It's gone down a little. Maybe that was the beginning of the end for the fever."

Bret slumped into one of the chairs next to the bed and let out a long 'whoosh' of breath. "You really think so?"

"Have to wait and see, Bret. But if I was a gambling man I'd put money on it."

The gambler's son wanted to get up and tell everyone outside what happened and that maybe, just maybe, something had finally broken the fever, but he didn't think his legs would hold him just yet. _'Thanks,_ ' he thought and gathered his strength to stand. He took a deep breath and got to his feet, knowing those in the hall had no idea what had occurred in the bedroom.

He stumbled to the door and was immediately aware of four pairs of very anxious eyes turned in his direction. "He's alright. Simon thinks the fever may have broken." Bret stepped out of the doorway and let everyone into the room, all except Althea, who enveloped him in her embrace.

"I think you better sit down," she told him, and he gave a little laugh.

"Do I look that bad?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation. "Like you're about to collapse. Is he really alright?"

Bret nodded slightly and his head swam. "Simon thinks so. It wasn't good, Althea. I thought . . . . . . "

She nodded, understanding what he was trying to tell her. "I know. You're white as a sheet, Bret. Why don't you go lay down for a few minutes? I'll come get you before Simon goes."

"No, I'm alright. I need to talk to him. Simon, I mean."

Bret stood in the doorway, holding onto Althea, until everyone but Ben and Simon had left the room. Ben had taken up his usual seat at Beauregard's bedside and Simon was gathering up his belongings. He looked up at Bret and grinned. "Hope there's no angry patients waiting for me, but it sure is fortunate I was here. Same regimen as before, Bret. Keep up the water, and I've talked to Lily Mae about the soup. I'll be back this evening. And by the way, good work, friend."

"I didn't do anything, Simon."

Simon clapped him on the shoulder. "That's just it. I told you to wait for my instructions, and you did just what I told you. You didn't move. Wish everybody listened to me like that." He realized that Bret had swayed slightly and a look of concern spread across his face. "Are you alright?"

"No, he's not," Althea interjected. "He doesn't eat, he's only slept once in four days, and he's worried out of his mind. Convince him to go rest, would you please, Simon?"

"Listen to your lady, gambling man. Go lay down for a while. You can feel better about things; Beauregard's really got a chance, now. It would be nice if his son was healthy enough to welcome him back."

Bret looked at both of them as if they'd just shot him. "Yes, momma," he told Simon, and let Althea lead him out of the room. "Ben, I'll be back," he called over his shoulder, and saw Ben nod his head.

"Simon, wait for me downstairs. I'll be right down," Althea explained, and Simon nodded.

"I want to talk to Lily Mae for a minute, anyway," the doctor offered.

Althea led Bret down the hall to his old room. She made him sit on the bed and pulled his boots off, then took the coat he handed her and hung it on the chair. "Lay down," she told him, "and close your eyes."

"Thea – " he started to protest, and she stopped him.

"Doctor's orders. Close your eyes."

He finally quit fighting and did as he was told. He breathed a sigh of relief that this morning was over; it had been terrifying and hopeful at the same time, and for the first time in days the knot in the pit of his stomach relaxed just a little. Now all he had to worry about was getting Pappy well and begging to be forgiven. And where in the world was his brother?. He sighed again. Worrying about Brother Bart was nothing new.


	26. Too Painful to Remember

Chapter 26 – Too Painful to Remember, Too Easy to Forget

He'd fallen asleep, and he had no idea for how long. He was just going to rest for a few minutes, and only because Althea and Simon insisted. His stomach growled for the first time in days and he was actually hungry. _'Why the change?'_ he wondered, and then he remembered the morning's events. He sat up and grabbed his boots, putting them back on a lot easier than the last time he'd tried it, and picked up his coat. He had to get back to his father.

The house was quiet, and since he had no idea what time it was he reached for his pocket watch. Almost two o'clock. He couldn't believe he'd slept that long. He arrived at Pappy's room and found the door standing open. There was no one inside except the man in the bed, and Bret walked in stealthily and sat down on the empty chair. He was startled to find his father's eyes open and immediately reached up to feel his forehead. It was considerably cooler than the last time he'd been in here and realized that Simon's earlier speculation about the fever breaking was correct.

"Pappy?" he asked when he realized that Beauregard's eyes were following his movements.

"Mmmmmm?" was the response he got, but at least it was a response of some sort.

"Pappy, it's Bret. Are ya with me?"

"Bret?" It was a whisper.

"You back with us?" He straightened the blankets while he waited to see if he got an answer of any kind.

"Mmmmhmmm."

"Pappy, you remember what I told you a while back? About being your son?"

"Mmmmmmm."

What did that mean? Yes or no? The eyes that watched him were noncommittal - there was no emotion of any kind in them, almost no recognition in them. Gradually Bret was aware of someone behind him and he glanced back quickly. It was his Uncle.

"Beauregard, it's Bentley. How're ya feelin'?"

"Bentley." That had a strange sound to it. Beau rarely called his brother by his full name, it was always 'Ben' or 'Bent.'

Just to be sure, Bret asked his father, "Pappy, what's your name?"

There was some hesitation. "Beau . . . . . Beau . . . . . . Beauregar . . . . . " He stopped before finishing. Bret wondered if he couldn't remember or it was just too much effort right now.

"It's alright, Pappy. We're just glad that your fever's gone." Bret patted his father's shoulder.

"Long?"

Bret almost chuckled. Why were the Mavericks always asking how much time had passed while they were unaware of what was happening? "Almost a week, Pappy. You had a long nap."

"Nap?"

Ben jumped in. "Just a joke, Beau. We're all happy you're back."

Bret got up and poured a glass of water. "Simon says you have to keep drinking water, Pappy. C'mon, I'll lift your head. Let's get some of this down ya." He handed the glass to Ben and slipped his hand under the pillow, raising Beauregard's head enough to drink. Ben put the glass to his lips and the Maverick patriarch drank almost a full glass of water. And promptly made a face when he was done.

"What was that for?" Bret asked.

"Coffee," was the answer he got.

"Not yet," Ben told him. "The next order of business is some soup. How about soup, Beau?"

"Food."

"Soup," was the reply this time. "I'll go talk to Lily Mae, Bret. Keep him awake."

Bret nodded, then turned back to his father. "Simon'll be here in a couple hours. We'll see what he says about what you can have and not have. That's the best we can do right now, Pappy."

"Belle?"

Oh dear. Did he not remember that Belle died over twenty years ago? "She's not here, Pappy."

"Bart?"

"He's out of town right now."

"Oh."

"Do you remember walkin' home in the rain?"

Beau looked towards the window. It was sunny outside. "Not rainin'."

"No, do you – never mind. Is there anything you want?"

"Sit up."

"You want to sit up?" Beau's head nodded imperceptibly. "I think we can do that," Bret answered, as he pulled the extra bed pillows from their storage spot. He lifted Beau's pillow off of the bed and put another one under it. "Hang on until Uncle Ben comes back. We'll give you some more. Anything else?"

"Talk."

"Do you want to talk?" his firstborn asked.

"No. You talk."

"Alright, I can do that. You haven't missed a whole lot. Althea hired a ranch foreman. Names Chad Summers. Comes highly recommended. She made the decision herself, cause I couldn't . . . . . wouldn't go back to the ranch with her to talk to him. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you first got sick. Althea and I went to Austin for two days. Got some good action on the poker tables over there. I . . . I just . . . that's about all there is, Pappy. I been here for three or four days . . . no, maybe five . . . . . I don't know anymore. Oh yeah, I borrowed yer shirt. I was startin' to smell like one a those squirrels Bart used to bring home. Sorry, I don't know much else."

"Althea?" There was definitely a blank look on Beau's face.

"Althea. You know, Althea. Fred Taylor's widow. The one Bart and I ran the trail drive for? I'm livin;' with her over at her ranch. Don't you remember Althea, Pappy?"

The blank look hadn't left. "No. Married?"

Bret let out a little laugh, finally. "No, sir. Not married. Remember, you made us promise? Not to get married till we're thirty-eight?"

"No. Why?"

"I don't know, Pappy. You never gave us a reason."

Again, that blank look from Pappy. "Us?"

"Me an Bart."

"Oh."

Lily Mae appeared at the door carrying a tray holding a bowl of soup, followed by Ben. The soup was chicken with noodles, Beauregard's favorite. She set it on the table next to the bed and sat down to do the honors.

"Lily?" Beauregard asked.

"That's me, Mr. Beau. I'm so glad to see you with yer eyes open. How about some soup? It's yer favorite."

Bret reached out and grabbed Ben by the arm. He pulled his uncle back out into the hall. "Ben, somethin's not right in there."

"What's not right?"

"He's hesitant about things he should know right away. He said he didn't remember Althea, and asked me if we were married. Didn't know why he told us not to get married till we were thirty-eight. And he asked about Momma again."

"Are you sure? Maybe he's just confused."

Bret nodded. "See for yourself."

Bret and Ben added the extra pillows to prop Beauregard up in the bed. Lily Mae began the task of feeding the world's normally crankiest man, who proceeded to eat the chicken soup, one spoonful at a time, without fussing or complaining in any way. They got through most of the bowl before Beauregard shook his head. "No more."

"Mr. Beau – "

"Let it go, Lily. That's pretty good for a first effort."

Pappy looked pleased.

"Say Beau, where's Bart?" Ben asked the innocuous question.

"Don't know."

"Who's Althea?" Ben asked next.

"Bret's girl," Beau answered.

"Pappy, who's Belle?" Bret questioned.

Beauregard got that blank look again. "Belle? My wife. Where is she?"

Ben turned his head and gave Bret a look. Pappy had closed his eyes again, and Ben said "Beau."

"Tired," came the reply, and the eyes stayed closed.

"Go on, Bret, get out of here for a while. I'll sit with him and try to talk to him when he wakes up again. I'll see what he remembers and don't remember."

Bret nodded. "Alright. I'm goin' downstairs with Althea. You holler for me if you need me before Simon gets here."

Lily Mae took the almost empty bowl and went back downstairs; Bret followed her. "What was all that about?" she asked.

"I wish I knew, Lily Mae. I wish I knew."


	27. Father and Son

Chapter 27 – Father and Son

It was after eight o'clock before Simon got to the house. "Everybody picked today to break something," he explained as he handed his coat to Lily Mae. "I had two broken arms, a broken leg, a broken foot, and three dislocated fingers."

"Sounds like Bart on a bad day," Bret laughed. He'd finally eaten a full meal, gotten enough sleep, and watched his father's eyes stay open for more than two minutes. His mood was considerably improved, even if still concerned.

"How's our boy tonight?"

"Better," Bret answered as he, Simon and Ben climbed the stairs. "You were right; the fever broke. And Lily got almost a full bowl of soup down him. Of course, the first thing he wanted was coffee, then he asked for food. Talk to Lily before you leave, she wants to know what she can make for him. He did go back to sleep after he ate. And the soup stayed where it was supposed to." Simon grinned at that. "But there's somethin' I'm worried about, Simon."

"Something would be wrong with the world if you weren't worried, Bret," Simon told his friend solemnly. "What now?" as they entered the bedroom.

Bret reiterated the things he'd told Ben, but the look on Simon's face never changed. "I don't think it's anything to worry about, Bret. There could be a lot of reasons for the forgetfulness, and none of them are critical. We'll see how long it continues. In the meantime, it looks like our patient has woken up."

The doctor was correct; Beauregard was lying on the bed watching the three men that had just entered his room. "How you feeling, Beauregard?" Simon asked.

The answer was a little slow in coming, but the voice was stronger than it had been earlier. "Felt better."

"I would imagine so. Here, let's take your temperature," and he slid his thermometer under Beau's tongue. No one said anything while they waited, and when Simon saw the result he had a full blown smile on his face. "Almost back to where it should be."

Ben and Bret both let out a long, slow breath. Simon did as complete an exam as he could, checking Beau's eyes, ears, and throat; listening to his breathing and his heart, then checking his pulse just to be sure. "I think you're on the road to recovery, Beauregard. You can have some coffee, but no more than two cups a day for a while. And some food, although not your idea of food for a few days. We've got to take things slow at first. Your system's been through a terrible time; the last thing we want to do is cause more problems. And no badgering people in this house into giving you what you want rather than what you should have. Understood?"

There was an annoyed look in Beauregard's eyes, but his answer was "Yes."

"Simon?" Bret left the remainder of the question unspoken.

"Beauregard, do you remember the rainstorm?" the doctor asked.

Again, Beau's eyes went to the window. Everything outside was already dark. "Now?" came the question.

"No, last week."

"No."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Beau thought for a moment. "Bart leavin'."

Simon turned to Bret. "How long ago was that?"

"Couple weeks."

"Do you remember Althea Taylor?"

"Bret's girl?" Pappy had the look he got whenever he saw a beautiful girl. "Pretty thing." There was a pause, and then Beau asked, "Where's Belle?"

Bret shot a look at Simon. "See?"

Simon shook his head. "Let's give him some time. You said he didn't remember Althea before; now he does. Beauregard, Belle's gone."

"Gone? Gone where? Oh. I know."

"Where is she, Pappy? Where's Momma?"

"On the hill."

Ben stepped forward. "That's enough, Bret. Leave him be."

"I'm just – "

Simon interrupted. "I know, you're worried. Like I said before, give him some time. He's an old man, his memory's not as good as it used to be. He's had a heck of a week. I think he'll be fine."

"Alright, Simon. You're the doctor. I'll let it go for now. Anything else we need to do?"

"No, not tonight. I'll stop by in the morning again on the way in, and we'll see how he's doing then. If he keeps making progress, you can start getting him out of bed tomorrow. He needs to get his strength back." He slapped Bret on the back. "All in all, I'm quite pleased with the changes I see. Smile, friend, your father's going to recover."

Bret did smile then, for no other reason than to pacify Simon, who'd gone above and beyond for Pappy. He wanted nothing to hinder his father's continued recovery. He had a lot to talk to Pappy about, and he wanted to make sure that Beauregard heard and remembered every word he said.

XXXXXXXX

For the first time in so long that no one could remember, the rest of the night passed in uninterrupted peace. Althea and Bret actually spent a night together, although both were so preoccupied with their own thoughts that the most they could manage was to lay together quietly, each one holding tightly to the other.

Ben got up during the night to check on his brother and give him more water, after which both he and Beau went easily back to sleep. Lily Mae got up at her usual time and put on two pots of coffee, anticipating both Beauregard and Simon drinking some.

Right after sunrise Bret was awake, and he got out of bed and got dressed, leaving Althea to sleep. He made his way quietly down to Beauregard's room and sat in the chair next to the bed. What a difference twenty-four hours had made. Pappy looked to be sleeping peacefully, his brow unwrinkled and no longer sweating profusely, and some of the knots in Bret's stomach were gone. His father's hand was on top of the covers, and Bret reached out and grabbed hold of it. "Thank you," he said out loud, staring down at the covers, and when he looked up his father was looking at him.

"For what?" Beau asked, a small smile that his son hadn't seen in weeks playing around his lips.

"For bringin' you back to us."

"You sure?"

Bret nodded, and then answered just in case Pappy hadn't seen his head move. "I'm sure. Do you remember what I told you when I first got here?"

"No."

Bret wasn't sure what his father remembered, or chose to remember, so he repeated as much of it as he could. "Look, I couldn't be any sorrier if I tried. The liquor I had that night was a bad idea made worse when I kept drinkin'. Now I know why you told us not to touch the stuff. It messes with a man's insides and makes it too easy to not give a damn. I'm sorry I ignored your warnin's." He let go of his father's hand.

Beau was still watching him and not saying anything, so he continued. "All that talkin' I did – I was wrong. I never believed any of it. I know what losin' Momma did to you. I hid the guns, remember? And I know what it took to keep you from followin' her. It doesn't matter what made you change your mind - whether it was me or Bart or both of us. You loved us; I've always known that. I never, ever thought Bart meant more to you than me. He's got Momma's eyes, and I don't. When you look at him, you see her. I know that. I've always known that. I just want ya back, Pappy, I want my father to be my father. I'm your son. I'll always be your son."

"Was prettier the first time." Beau reached over and ruffled his firstborn's hair, the way he had when Bret was small.

"You heard me. I mean the first time. You heard me."

"I heard ya, boy."

"Then you know this is all my fault. I'm so sorry, Pappy."

"Not your fault. Mine."

"You just wanted - "

"Just wanted what I wanted. Right or not, what I wanted. Didn't need to leave."

Bret buried his face in the blankets. "I told you to go."

"Didn't have to leave. Too damn stubborn to stay. Had to prove a point."

"What point was that, Pappy?"

A faint chuckle from the bed. "Still in charge." He ran his hand through Bret's hair, still seeing the little child that used to sit on his lap and sort the deck of cards into suits. This was his son, his boy, and he was reminded how deep his love was for the two splendid gifts that God and Belle Maverick had given him. "Sorry. Was wrong to push you. Didn't need to."

Something inside Bret broke free. The last knot he had left in his stomach was gone, and he sobbed in relief. All the worry, all the anguish that he'd held in for days on end poured forth, and they washed the pain away and he thanked God again, silently this time, for sparing his father's life. He gathered himself together almost as quickly as he'd fallen apart and never knew that Althea had been standing in the doorway and heard the entire exchange.


	28. Coffee and Kisses

hapter 28 – Coffee and Kisses

The doctor agreed that the worst of it was over. Now it was just a matter of rebuilding Beauregard's strength and stamina, and that was going to require time and patience. Bret and Ben certainly better have both in abundance, because patience was not one of Pappy's virtues. As he pointed out, he was already an old man with who knows how much time left. What little patience he had was already worn thin by the time Lily Mae brought him one cup of coffee and oatmeal.

Simon hadn't been out of the room five minutes when Pappy made his first demand. "I want bacon and eggs, Lily Mae. And more coffee.

"Don't care what you want, Mr. Beau, this is what you're gonna get. Doctor's orders."

Simon was still in the hall, talking to Ben, and he heard every word. He was quick to defend the beleaguered housekeeper. "Beauregard Maverick – you promised to behave yourself. If you insist she fix you bacon and eggs, then I will stand here and watch you eat them, and I will applaud when your body can't handle it and you vomit your insides out. And I shall laugh my well-educated head off."

Lily Mae giggled. Ben shook his head and Bret wandered downstairs to see Althea, who was once again cooking breakfast for everyone. She looked up with a puzzled expression on her face. "I thought Simon was talking to you all upstairs."

Bret shook his head. "Pappy's on the road to recovery. He's already trying to circumvent Simon's orders. I had to come down here."

Even Althea laughed. "Does that mean you're ready to go home with me?"

She wasn't going to be happy, but Bret had to tell her the truth. "No, Thea, but I think you should go back to the ranch. I know you've got things to do there. I need to stay here for a while, at least until I know Pappy's on the right track. I'll take you over to the ranch and ride back over. Need to bring some clothes with me, too."

He was right, she wasn't happy. But she said she understood. "How long do you think you'll be here?"

"Oh, a week, I would think. Maybe two. I'll swing by to see you, but I want to be here until he's really back to bein' himself. Then I'll be home to stay. Can ya deal with that, please?"

She nodded but never looked up from her cooking. "I guess I'll have to."

"Thank you."

He put his arms around her, but she wiggled out of his grasp. "Tell everybody breakfast is ready."

"Alright."

Everyone that was awake came to the table and ate. Simon gave instructions on how to deal with Beauregard's recovery and what needed to be done to help him regain his strength. When they were finished, the doctor turned to Bret and Ben. "I'll be by tomorrow morning, on my way into town. I want to see how he handles his first day. Remember that he's going to tire easily, and still needs lots of rest. And he'll be cranky, even more so than usual, because he'll be frustrated that he can't do more. Lily Mae, you stand your ground about the food and the coffee."

Ben spoke up. "And just remember, he can't fire you, no matter how much he blusters. If he gives you one ounce of trouble, Lily, you come get me and I'll handle him. I mean it."

"Lily Mae, come find me when it's time to take him his food and I'll do it. He won't bother ya that way." Brer reached over and patted Lily's hand and winked at her.

"I'll take ya up on that offer, Bret," she told him.

"Thank you for breakfast, Althea. It was delicious, as usual. I'm gonna miss that by not stopping here every morning." Simon beamed at Althea.

"Thank you, Simon. I'm going home this morning, anyway."

"Bret, I thought you were gonna help with Beau?" Simon was confused.

Bret nodded. "I am gonna help with Pappy, Simon. Althea's goin' back to the ranch this mornin'. I'm not. For now."

"Oh. Oh. Well, I'm sure that's probably for the best, at least for Beauregard's best." Simon smiled guiltily and Bret failed to see the look that Simon exchanged with Althea. "Well, I better get going. Let's hope there're no more broken bones today. I had my fill yesterday. I'll see you all tomorrow morning. You know where I am if you need me. Althea, Lily Mae." Simon picked up his medical bag, tipped his hat, and left. Lily started clearing the dishes. Althea got up to help her and Lily told her to sit down.

"You did the cookin', girl. I'll do the cleanin'."

"Thanks, Lily. Bret, can we go ahead and go to the ranch? There're some things there I've neglected long enough."

Bret got up and held Althea's chair for her. "Yes, ma'am, give me just a minute and I'll get the buggy ready." He leaned over and kissed Althea on the cheek, then headed for the stairs. She sighed and walked into the front room.

"It won't be long now, girl, and he'll be all yours again," Ben told her as he followed her. "I know it's been frustratin', but I surely thank you for all the help."

Althea's turn to kiss Ben on the cheek. "You're welcome, Ben. The family is important, and you all sure needed us. But I have to say I'd be happier if Bret was coming home with me. To stay, I mean."

Ben took her hand. "I know, girl. But he will be soon."

"I hope so," she told him.

XXXXXXXX

"Pappy, I'm takin' Althea to the ranch. I'll be back soon."

Beauregard nodded his head and shot a pleading look at his oldest son. "Can we do somethin' about gettin' me outta bed when you come back? I need to do anything other than lay here."

"Sure, long as you remember to take it easy. You're not gonna have much strength at first." Bret's eyes crinkled up, but that was as close as he got to a smile.

"And how about a bath? I don't think I can stand myself much longer. You could use one, too, ya know."

"Sorry. I've been a little pre-occupied. And I haven't had any clean clothes here. That's why I'm wearin' yer shirt. Maybe it'll rain again and we can just run around outside naked. How's that sound?"

"No thanks, smart boy. My days of walkin' in the rain are over. I'm serious about the bath, Bret. I got to get clean."

' _It must be drivin' Pappy crazy,'_ Bret thought. All of the Maverick men were fastidious in their cleanliness and dress. "We'll get ya takin' care of, Pappy. I swear. I got to go."

"Alright, son, you know where I'll be." Bret turned on his heel and left; halfway down the hall he heard Pappy's voice. "Hurry."

Althea was waiting for him downstairs. "I still have to hitch up the horse," Bret told her.

"I know, I just wanted to spend some time with you. I'll go out to the barn with you."

He took her arm and escorted her outside. She stood and watched him bridle and harness the horse, then followed them back to the buggy. Finally she spoke. "Bret, I've been thinking."

"Bout what, Thea?"

"About us. Are you happy?"

"Happy?" he asked. "I guess. I never gave it much thought. I'll be happier when all this is over and everything's back to normal."

"Normal? Is there anything like normal in this family?" Her voice had a cynical tone to it, and her face wore a questioning expression.

"Yeah, everyday normal. You know, like we had before all this with Pappy. Am I missin' somethin', Thea? Somethin' yer not tellin' me?"

She sighed as he helped her into the buggy. "No. No, Bret, there's nothing I'm not telling you. I just want some semblance of normal, everyday life. I'm beginning to think that's too much to ask for."

"It won't be much longer, Thea. I promise. Just let me get Pappy on his feet." Bret climbed into the buggy beside her and they set off towards the ranch. He wondered just exactly what it was that was so great about 'normal', but he had to admit that the last couple of weeks had been tumultuous, at best. He loved her, that much he knew, and he wanted her to be happy. Was it marriage? Is that what was bothering her? That they weren't married? She'd agreed that marriage wasn't necessary when they first talked about being together. Had she changed her mind? Simon had asked when they were getting married; even Pappy had asked if they were married when Althea was first discussed. Was that what it was going to take to make Althea happy?

And what if it was? He'd never given any thought to marriage before; he avoided thinking about it just like he avoided the act of marriage itself. Would he be willing to give up his freedom to make her happy? Did he love her the way Beauregard loved Isabelle? Or Beau loved Georgia? Or even the way Bart came to love Caroline? That was the question, wasn't it?

Before he realized it they were home, and he got out of the buggy and around to help Thea down. As he lifted her out he folded her into his arms and kissed her in a way he hadn't kissed her in days. He kissed her until neither one of them could breathe. And then he picked her up and carried her inside.


	29. Smoking Cigars

Chapter 29 – Smoking Cigars

It was almost two hours before Bret got back to Ben's house. By that time Ben and Lily Mae had conspired to solve the bathing problem, and Beauregard was feeling much better in clean clothes. Bret had also managed to get washed up before returning, among other things, and came back with his war bag full of necessities and a smile on his face. Pappy didn't need to ask why he'd been gone so long.

A nap was required after the effort of the bath, and soon after lunch was ready. As promised, Bret went down to the kitchen and took the tray from Lily, knowing that Pappy would have a fit when he saw the bowl of soup and only one of Lily's biscuits. And to add insult to injury, a glass of water. Much to Bret's surprise Beauregard smiled and ate what he was given, never uttering a word of complaint or protest. Bret sat in silence while Pappy ate and wondered what had brought about this change in attitude.

"He's so happy yer back, even if it's temporary, he's like a different person," Lily Mae informed the oldest Maverick son. "I near scalded him with the bath water and he never so much as 'ouched.'"

"Got to be more than that," Bret muttered as he went back upstairs. When he got to Beauregard's bedroom he found his cousin Beau sitting by Pappy's bedside, and they were LAUGHING. Together. "Bret, just in time. Uncle Beau and I were just chatting about a stroll around the house. How about it? I think it would do him a world of good to get outside, at least for a few minutes."

Bret nodded. "We talked about that. I think it's a good idea. How about it, Pappy? Once around the block? If you behave, we can sit on the porch afterward and have a smoke."

"I'm ready, boys. Let's go." Beauregard threw the covers back but quickly discovered that it wasn't quite so easy to get out of bed. First was the task of putting on socks and boots. Once that was accomplished, it took some struggling and an assist from his son and nephew to actually get him up and on his feet. At best he was unsteady but willing, swaying slightly but too stubborn to not stay at least semi-upright. A coat came next, and then a blanket for good measure, and he took several wobbly steps before actually reaching the door to the room. As he stared down it, never had a hallway looked so long.

It was slow going, but the steps were wide and eventually they all reached the front door. Before they could leave Bentley's voice was heard from the study. "Beau, I need to talk to you about this horse you bought."

Beau turned to his Uncle. "Sorry, Uncle Beau, duty calls. Bret, you be okay?"

Bret nodded. "Fine. What horse did you buy, anyway?"

Beau gave a lopsided grin and explained as he was walking away, "He's a champion stud. Thought I might like to try my hand at breeding horses for a while. They're a lot more gentle than steers." He headed for the study. "Coming, Father."

Bret and Pappy looked at each other. "Breeding horses?" Bret questioned.

"Beau's just lost," Pappy replied. "I know how he feels. After your momma died . . . . . . "

"What? You had poker, Pappy, and you had us. Not that we could be much help."

"No, boy, it was me couldn't be much help. I didn't know where to begin. But I did have you an yer brother, and that kept me gettin' up at night and goin' to bed in the mornin'. Beau doesn't have that. He needs somethin' to hold onto. I never realized . . . . . "

"Let's sit down out here for a minute, Pappy. That was a big staircase." Bret could see that his father was having a hard time catching his breath, and thought a few minutes in one of the rockers might benefit him. Beauregard was agreeable, especially since he knew that Bret always carried cigars with him. Sure enough Bret pulled out two and lit them, then passed one to his father. They sat for a few minutes, smoked and rocked, rocked and smoked, before anyone spoke. "What were you sayin' about Cousin Beau?"

"I never realized how much he loved Georgia. You were with him when she passed, weren't you?"

Bret took a draw on the cigar and nodded. "Yeah. It was rough. Beau and Jody were destroyed. And I wasn't a lotta help. All I could think about was findin' Bart."

"At least you were there."

"Physically. Not mentally."

"Maybe somethin' not tied to Georgia would be a distraction. Ya know, not like the saloon. Too much a her there."

"So, maybe breeding horses. Do you suppose that means he's not goin' back to Montana?" Bret posed the question.

"Don't know. What are you gonna do, Bret?"

"Sit here an smoke the rest a this cigar."

Pappy shook his head gently. "You know what I mean. You an Althea."

"Funny you should bring that up. Didn't that start all this mess?"

"I'm not pokin' in yer life, boy, I just wanna know what yer gonna do."

Bret took a deep breath. "I . . . . . . . I don't know yet, Pappy."

XXXXXXXX

Althea sat in front of the window and looked out at her ranch. Her ranch. At least she had a foreman, now, who was going to start tomorrow. Convincing her to keep the ranch instead of selling it was the best thing Bart Maverick had done for her. Besides lend her his brother, because that's what it was beginning to look like he'd done. She could just hear Bart now. "You can have him for a while, Althea. Until I need him. Then I want him back."

Only it wasn't Bart that wanted him back. It was his father. She'd thought that the love they had for each other was strong; strong enough to withstand anything, be it gossip, no marriage in their future, or Beauregard Maverick. She was beginning to think she was wrong.

Oh, there was no doubt that Bret was his own man. But there was a caveat to that – family came first. His family, the one he was born into, not the one he'd created. And when they needed him, which they seemed to do frequently, he went. He just wanted to get his father well, he promised. Then he'd come back to her. Until the next one needed him, and there was no doubt there would be a next one.

She loved the man, plain and simple. Maybe more than she'd loved Fred. Life with Bret would be exhilarating and worrisome, always wondering if he was going to come home or stay with his mistress, poker. But that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted peace and contentment; marriage and children. All the things she wouldn't have with Bret, but would have had with Fred Taylor. She thought about the other difference between the two men that had been in her life, and blushed.

Fred was a quiet, almost passive lover, gentle to a fault. He was nice, pleasant. Bret was something she had no idea could exist. Passionate and tender, exciting and insatiable, everything he did left her breathless. They were as different as night and day. But the question remained in her mind – could she ever really possess Bret Maverick, or would she always come second to his 'real' family?

She'd been sitting there for a long time when she thought of Simon. Funny, happy, caring Simon. He made her laugh, he complimented her, he noticed her. He sat and talked with her; he wanted her ideas, her opinions, her thoughts, her attention. He was flirting with her, wooing her from a distance. Much as she was enjoying it, she knew it had to stop. Simon wasn't Bret, and she was in love with Bret. Wasn't she?


	30. That Old Black Magic

Chapter 30 – That Old Black Magic

It was an odd feeling to lay in the bed alone, without Althea, and yet a familiar one. There was something bothering her; thus there was something bothering him, and Bret didn't know what it was. His continued presence at Ben's house rather than the Taylor Ranch? He hoped that was all it was.

Pappy was exhausted after the adventure of bathing, getting out of bed and actually spending time walking yesterday, and he retired early and slept soundly. Bret wandered the house, trying to find something to occupy his time, and he finally settled in with one of Bart's favorite books in the study. He'd only read a few pages when his mind found its way to the problem of his brother. Locating him, that is, and soon the book was forgotten and his thoughts turned exclusively to Bart. Yesterday at Althea's he'd found Ned and sent him to Little Bend to wire his friend in Fort Worth, asking if there was any word of the robbers, the posse, or Bart. He mulled over what Bart might have gotten into this time until he found himself falling asleep, and he finally gave up and went to bed about two in the morning.

Normally he would have slept considerably later, but he knew Simon was stopping by to see Pappy. Not long after Lily Mae started her morning routine in the kitchen, he gave up any attempt to continue sleeping and got up, washing his face and shaving before changing into clean clothes. At least the 'Pappy' knots in his stomach were gone, and all that was left were concerns for his brother. And that was nothing new.

By the time he left his room he could hear Lily Mae at the door, ushering Simon in and sending him upstairs with a full coffee cup. Simon smiled when he saw Bret and handed him the coffee. "You need it more than I do, friend."

"Thanks," Bret answered, and took a long swallow. "Look that good, do I?"

Lily Mae, hearing Bret's voice, came up the stairs with another cup of coffee, handing it once again to Simon. "Breakfast is on," she told them both and hurried back downstairs.

"How's your father this morning?"

Bret shook his head. "Just now gettin' in there. He was one tired man last night, I'll tell ya that."

"Quit talkin' about me like I'm dead," boomed a voice from the bedroom.

"The lion wakes," his son announced, and the two men entered the room to find Beauregard propped up in bed, looking anxiously for coffee of his own. Bret handed his cup to Pappy, who smiled and took a swallow.

"Ah, the nectar of the gods," commented Beau.

"Or in this case, the poker players," finished his son.

"How'd you sleep last night?" Simon asked innocently.

"Divinely," Beau answered.

"And how do you feel this morning?"

"Ready to get out of this bed for good."

"I think that can be arranged, as long as you promise to take it easy for a few days," Simon replied, and Beauregard let loose with a big grin. "How'd your stomach do yesterday?"

"It would do a lot better if it had some real food in it."

Simon had to laugh. "You Mavericks. I've never seen a family that has the appetites you all have."

"All except Bart," Bret shook his head. "I don't know where he came from. Momma, maybe?"

"Yer mother never ate like that, boy. He's got Jessie's appetite. Or lack of appetite."

"Jessie?" Simon asked.

"Our aunt in Montana. She's gone now."

"It wasn't starvation, was it?"

"Consumption," was the solemn answer.

"Alright, Beauregard, you can eat regularly again. As long as your stomach will tolerate it. But keep the coffee down to a minimum for a few days, would you please?"

"You're the doctor, doctor," Beau replied.

"Go on, Bret, go get yourself some coffee. I want to do a quick exam of your father, anyway."

"Don't leave without seeing me, Simon. I'd like to get your opinion on another matter." Bret left and went downstairs, to Lily Mae. "Third times the charm, Lily?" he asked, as he tried once more to have a cup of coffee to call his own.

"What's the verdict up there?"

"Keep an eye on the coffee consumption, but feed him what he wants."

Lily Mae let out a big sigh. "Praise Jesus," she said, and both of them laughed. "I've already got my orders for this mornin'."

"Let's see, bacon, eggs and half a dozen biscuits."

"Ya know yer father well, don't ya?'

Bret nodded, still laughing. "After all these years, I should hope so." He sat at the table for several minutes, drinking coffee and watching Lily work, before Simon came downstairs. "How is he?"

"Well on the right road." Simon shook his head. "Now that we're through that, I'll tell you the truth – I wasn't sure Beauregard had enough left in him to fight through it. I'm not sure he would have if you hadn't shown up, Bret."

"He wouldn't have been in the position to have to if I hadn't . . . . . . well, let's just say it could have been prevented."

"Alright, boys, here's your breakfast," Lily announced as she set plates down in front of both of them. "Now, for the ravenous man upstairs."

"Do ya want me to take it up, Lily?" Bret asked.

"No, Bret, I think I'm safe now. Thanks, anyway." Lily took the tray, full of food and a coffee pot, and disappeared. Bret took the opportunity to talk privately with Simon.

"How well do you know Althea?"

Simon almost choked. "Not well," he managed to get out. "Why?"

Bret was practically shredding the biscuit he had in his hands. "Somthin's botherin' her, Simon, and I'll be damned if I know what it is."

"Why don't you just ask her?" Simon wondered if Bret knew what was – or rather wasn't – going on between him and Althea.

"Because she's already told me there's nothing botherin' her."

Simon pushed food around on his plate. "And you don't believe her?"

"It's not that I don't trust her, Simon, I just know there's somethin' not right."

"Sure it's not just your imagination?"

A firm shake of the head. "Nope. It's somethin' real. She hasn't talked to you, has she?"

Good thing the doctor was used to being asked uncomfortable questions. "No, she asked me something about Beauregard, but that's the extent of it."

Bret sighed, clearly worried about something that he couldn't put his finger on. _'Now what?'_ he wondered. Maybe he should try talking to Althea again.

Simon put down his fork and pulled out his watch. "Dang, I had no idea it was so late. Thank Lily Mae for me, would you, Bret? I've got to go. I'll try to stop tomorrow and see how things are. Tell Beauregard to take it easy, would you?" And before he could do much besides blink, Bret was sitting in the kitchen alone.

Simon stayed calm and strode to his buggy, climbing in and heading toward Little Bend at a leisurely pace. As soon as he got far enough down the road to town to be out of sight he applied the whip to his horse and took off at a full gallop. He needed to be in his office, where he could think clearly without fear of saying something he shouldn't. He had to determine logically what he should do about the fact that he had done something that never should have happened. He'd allowed himself to fall head-over-heels in love with Althea Taylor. And what was worse – she appeared to have feelings for him.


	31. Broken Hearts

Chapter 31 – Broken Hearts

Althea spent a productive day at the ranch, cleaning up all the loose ends she'd neglected while staying at the Maverick house, and she was able to take care of most of them. She sent Ned over to Ben's house with an answer to the wire he'd sent for Bret, and when he returned he'd started training the new colt they'd acquired some time ago. She watched him for most of the afternoon, fascinated with the process, and learned a lot in a short period. She'd finished the rest of her list of chores just before sundown and was going in to start supper when she heard someone coming and looked up to see Simon Petry's buggy headed her way.

' _I wonder what's wrong?'_ she thought, and waited for Simon to arrive. His natural smile had been replaced by a worried frown that he tried to hide from her. "Simon! Has something happened to Beauregard?"

He shook his head quickly. "No, no, no," came the swift reply. "Do you have some time? Can we talk?"

"Certainly. Come inside, I was about to start dinner. You're welcome to join me, I have plenty of food."

"I'm not sure you'll want me to stay after you hear me out," he stated.

"In that case, come inside and have a brandy. I still have some that Bret bought."

Simon followed Althea in the house, nervous as a cat in that room of rocking chairs. She poured a brandy for each of them and handed one to Simon, then sat on the sofa. Simon reminded her of Bret, choosing to stand and pacing the room as if his life depended on it. What could be so unsettling?

"Althea, I . . . . . I need to . . . . . I mean I want to . . . . . . oh, damn. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I need to tell you . . . . . . " He stopped pacing long enough to drink the brandy in one long swallow. "Althea, I love you."

She looked up from her glass, startled. "You what?" she asked.

Simon swallowed. "I love you. I didn't plan it. I didn't expect it. There it is, plain and simple. I've fallen in love with you."

Her head reeled. She'd suspected, even hoped, that Simon had developed some kind of feelings for her, but to hear him actually say it out loud - she stood up, to tell him it wouldn't work, that she was in love with Bret Maverick, and promptly fainted.

Simon jumped quickly to grab her before she could land on the floor, and he held her gently and reached for his medical bag with his free hand. He rooted through it, searching for the smelling salts, and finally found what he was looking for. He heard the rain begin outside but paid no attention to the gathering storm, even when the thunder and lightning began to descend on the ranch.

In just a few moments Althea's eyes were open and she found herself looking into the face of an extremely distraught Simon. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, and her mouth was right there – and his lips were brushing hers, and then kissing her, and she didn't intend to kiss him back – but she did. And then he kissed her again, and she reciprocated, and again he whispered to her, "I love you, Althea. I love you. I didn't mean to, but I love you."

And before she could fully comprehend what he was saying, she'd answered him, and it was everything he wanted to hear, and nothing she'd intended to say - "I love you, too, Simon." And then in the next breath she uttered the most awful thing he could ever imagine anyone saying – "What are we going to tell Bret?"

XXXXXXXX

A light mist had started falling as the sun went down, and by the time he decided he was going over to Althea's to talk to her and find out what it was that was really bothering her, a gentle rain had begun to fall. He was reminded of the last time it rained, and what happened that night, but decided to go anyway. He knew better than to leave in this weather dressed any way other than 'travelin' clothes' – shirt, pants, and leather vest, and added a rain slicker for good measure. He saddled his horse and took it slow and easy, dodging puddles and pools of water as he made his way across the valley to the Taylor Ranch. The rain fell harder and faster, and soon it was difficult to see any distance.

That's why it took a crack of lightening before he saw the buggy sitting in front of Althea's house. Somebody was there, and it was a minute before it registered who the buggy belonged to. What was Simon doing here? Was Althea sick? Is that what she'd been hiding from him, not wanting to tell him as long as Beauregard hovered between life and death?

It was a few quick steps up the stairs and across the porch – just as the thunder rumbled and rolled, and drowned out all sound – and the front door made no noise as it swung open. In just seconds Bret had his answer, and he knew exactly what had been bothering Althea.

Never a victim of inaction, this time he simply froze. There on the floor lay Althea Taylor, the woman he loved, wrapped in the arms of his friend, Simon Petry, and there was no doubt about anything. Simon was kissing her, passionately, hungrily, lovingly, and worse than that – she was kissing him back.

He made some kind of noise, some unidentifiable sound, and the pair on the floor of the living room immediately realized they weren't alone. They stopped suddenly in mid-kiss and looked up towards the door, horrified to discover the very man they were so afraid of hurting - watching them. Althea pulled away from Simon and both scrambled to stand up, too late – Bret found his legs and fled, leaving the door open behind him.

He hit the steps running and jumped for his horse, landing square in the saddle and slapping the reins for all he was worth. He tried to yell out 'giddup' but couldn't be heard above the racket of the storm. Nor could he hear the screaming of the pair on the porch, as Althea ran the entire length of the house with Simon trailing behind.

Bret rode for what seemed like hours as the rain continued to beat down on him. He couldn't think; he couldn't breathe; he was beyond numb. There was nothing on this earth that could ease the pain in his heart.

Without thinking, he rode to the little Maverick Ranch, to the house that he and Bart had grown up in. His brother found Pappy here more than once, going through old papers and photographs, but Bret hadn't been here in years. The house was warm and dry. He was surprised that after all this time the roof didn't even leak.

He walked in the front door carefully; everything that seemed so big when he was a boy now seemed small in comparison. The house looked much the same as it had when they were children. The chairs still sat in front of the empty fireplace where once Momma's makeshift bed lay. He moved through the rooms in a state of confusion, remembering days and incidents from his childhood rather than what he'd just walked in on. There were sad memories here. Bart was sickly as a child and Bret spent a lot of time in one bedroom or another tending to him; Momma died in the front room, on the bed before the fire, in Pappy's arms. But there were happy memories here, too. Endless games of poker played at night without anyone's knowledge; Pappy teaching them both to ride on the big, roan mare; his first kiss with Mary Alice and all the time they'd spent telling each other what life together would be like after they ran away.

He was in the bedroom that he and Bart shared as children, and without much thought he sat on what had been his bed. He shouldn't have remembered Mary Alice, it only served to remind him of Althea. Why? Was the question in his mind. Why? Why did he have to fall in love with her? Why had she fallen out of love with him? And why Simon? He'd known Simon since he was six years old. Where was loyalty, friendship, brotherhood? The notion that the other man's girl was 'off limits'? When had this happened? How had it happened?

He put his head in his hands; there was a headache raging that nothing could cure. Was this what Pappy sensed all along, why he'd been so against Bret moving in with Althea? Or had he once again fallen for the wrong girl? That seemed to be his pattern – starting with Mary Alice and continuing right through to Marybeth Canton and Althea Taylor.

Where was his Isabelle Grayson? His Caroline Crawford? His Georgia Mayfield? That gave him pause. All three were dead. Was it really better to have loved and lost . . . . . rubbish! Once a Maverick found his love, why couldn't he hold on to her?

He should go back to Ben's house . . . . . so Pappy could rub it in? Maybe he wouldn't do that. This incarnation seemed to be a kinder, gentler Pappy, one who was more concerned about his sons' feelings and welfare than being right all the time. He would, he'd go home . . . . . it was home again, wasn't it? He'd go home just as soon as the headache that was pounding in his brain backed off . . . . . maybe if he lay down for a few minutes, it would ease up some . . . . . maybe if he closed his eyes . . . . . . maybe.


	32. Expect the Unexpected

Chapter 32 – Expect the Unexpected

"Bret back yet?" The question had come from Beauregard and he'd scared Lily Mae near to death with it.

"How'd ya get down here?" she asked. The last time she'd seen Beau he was sitting in his room reading old letters.

Beauregard looked down at his feet as if he had just grown two new ones. "I walked."

"Down the steps by yerself?"

"I held onto the rail."

"Uh-huh. And no, he's not back yet."

Pappy looked worried. "How long's he been gone?"

Lily Mae shrugged her shoulders. "Two, three hours. Why?"

"Somethin's wrong. I can feel it."

"What else can them ole bones a yours feel?"

"Don't make fun a me, Lily. I'm serious. Somethin's wrong."

As if on cue, there was knocking at the front door. Quickly it turned into pounding, and Lily rushed to open it before someone tried to kick the door in. Standing outside were a very wet and disheveled pair – Althea and Simon. "Is Bret here?" Althea was nearly frantic.

"No, honey, he went over to see you a while back. What's wrong? Didn't he get there?"

"Oh, he got there," Simon answered.

On pure instinct, Beauregard came up behind Lily Mae and saw the expressions on the two faces in front of him. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Bret's . . . . . . he saw . . . . . . he's upset."

Beauregard shot a look at Lily Mae, then quickly looked back at the two standing in the doorway. "That's the way it is, huh? You . . . . . . "

Althea hung her head and he saw the tears streaming down her face. Beau shifted his attention to Simon. "And you? You were supposed to be his friend. Have you no morals? No shame?" He grabbed the door from Lily Mae's hand. "Get out. And don't come back." And he slammed it before either could say another word.

"Mr. Beau – "

"Don't, Lily Mae. Don't say it. There's no excuse, no reason that I'll accept. They went behind his back, for God's sakes! While I was tryin' not to die." Beauregard was livid, and he swayed as he yelled. Lily Mae had to reach out and grab hold of his arm to stop him from toppling over. Bentley came running down the staircase, having heard all the shouting and wanting to know what in the world was going on.

"They're backstabbers! They're useless! Both of 'em. No good. Just no good."

"Come in here, Beauregard, and sit down with me. You can tell me what all the shoutin's about. Lily Mae, could you bring us some coffee, please?" Ben took hold of his brother's arm and guided him into the front room, sitting him in one of the chairs facing the fire, which he then proceeded to stoke until the flames crackled and popped. "Now what's this all about? I could have heard you all the way into town."

"Althea and Simon. Simon and Althea. Behind Bret's back. While he was tryin' to take care a me. That's what it's about. I swear, I oughtta get my shotgun . . . . . "

Ben looked perplexed. "Althea and Simon? Are ya sure? Yer not imaginin' things?"

Beau shook his head. "I'm not imaginin' nothin'. You didn't see 'em. Bret went over there cause he was worried about her. I don't know what happened, but he musta caught 'em together. Now he's God-knows-where, and they're feelin' guilty an lookin' for him."

"Hard to believe. We've known Simon since he was nothin' more'n a snot-nosed kid. And he sure tried his best to take care a you."

Lily Mae brought in two cups of coffee. "You calmer, Mr. Beau?"

Pappy looked up at Lily's face. There was worry written all over it. He sighed. "No, Lily Mae, I'm not. But there'll be no more yellin'. Ben, we gotta go after him. We can't leave him alone right now."

"Sit still, Beauregard. Yer not goin' anywhere, it's rainin' outside. Dang, why'd Beau pick tonight to go inta town? Well, there's nothin' else to be done. I'll go lookin' for him."

Beau put his hand on his brother's arm. "I got an idea, Ben. Try the old house. That's where I go . . . . "

"When ya need some alone time?"

One brother looked at the other. "You know?"

"There's only three places you'd be, Beauregard. A saloon, yer old place, or the hill. It's rainin' up on the hill, and I doubt the boy's lookin' for a poker game. That leaves the house."

"Yeah. I think so, too. Go bring 'em home, Ben. He's gonna need us."

XXXXXXXX

"You were right. That was futile." Althea looked up at Simon and he saw the tears running down her cheeks. He reached down and wiped them away.

"Sorry. I've known them a long time. There was no other reaction possible."

"What do we do now?"

"Go back to your house and . . . . . "

"What, continue where we were when we were doing what we had no right to do?"

Simon stared at her; she was correct. They'd had no right to be carrying on before talking to Bret. "I'm sorry. That was my fault. But we need to figure out where we go next. I love you, Althea, and I want to marry you. I'm not afraid of saying it. I want to marry you. Now. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. Whenever you'll marry me. I love you."

How could she be so happy and so miserable at the same time? "Alright. But we're not going to do anything but talk. Agreed?"

"Agreed. You will marry me, won't you?" There was hope and fear and excitement in his question.

"Yes, Simon, I'll marry you."

XXXXXXXX

"Hit him again, Dickie."

Dickie did exactly as he was told, and let go a punch that was designed to elicit information rather than knock the man he was beating unconscious. It did no immediate good, just as none of the previous blows had. Beyond another pitiful moan, absolutely no sound issued forth from the already brutalized form.

"Pretty tough for a gambler, ain't he?" Dickie asked, landing a second consecutive blow.

"Don't matter none. He'll tell us eventually. They always do."

"Aw, shoot, he's out again. You still got water in that bucket?" Dickie inquired of his companion.

"Yep, here," and Jed handed the bucket over. Dickie promptly dumped the rest of it on their target, who sputtered and spat as he was rudely revived.

"You ready to tell us what ya did with the money, tin horn?"

"Told you. Handed it over to the posse." That was the first thing their victim had said this afternoon. He was a bloody mess, having endured being their punching bag for hours.

"Can't we just kill 'em an be done with it?" Dickie asked for the second time today.

"No, we can't," Jed answered. "If we come back without the money, Everett'll kill us."

"I know, I know," Dickie responded. "But I sure am gonna have fun when I finally get to."

"Why don't ya give us a different answer, gambler?" Jed asked.

A slight smile played out along the battered lips; they were bruised and swollen. "Don't have one to give ya." He knew what was coming as soon as he said it, and Dickie and his merciless fists didn't disappoint. This one was designed to buy Dickie's hands some rest, and it knocked the man back out.

"Damn it, Dickie, I told ya not to hit him that hard. Now look what ya've done, and I ain't got no more water. Just gonna hafta wait for him to come around on his own. We could be here a long time, ya idiot."

"Don't call me no idiot. You want it done any better, you do it yerself. I'm tired."

Jed looked at the man slumped unconscious in front of him, hands behind his back and tied to the chair. They were just gonna have to wait it out until the gambler woke up, then Jed would take over trying to get the information out of him. And he knew ways of hurting a man that Dickie had never even thought of. He chuckled to himself. Before he was finished, Bart Maverick would tell them everything they wanted to know.

XXXXXXXX

The last thing Ben did before leaving to go saddle his horse was put on a rain slicker. He wasn't about to end up with pneumonia like Beauregard had. It took him a little longer than normal, making sure that everything was cinched firmly; he didn't want or need any slipping in the rain. And why was it still raining, anyway?

Finally ready to go, he mounted where it was dry and rode his horse out of the barn. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, and he headed off towards Beauregard's little house. They weren't that far apart and it only took him a few minutes before it was within sight. Sure enough, Bret's horse was tied out front.

Ben pulled his horse up and dismounted, tying him next to Bret's. The front door was slightly ajar, and Ben tried his best to enter quietly. He walked through the house, memories of all the good times and tragedies flooding through him, until he'd reached the boys' bedroom. Asleep on his old bed, the way he was so many times before, was his nephew. Thank God he'd had the good sense to put on a rain slicker before going to Althea's. It was now up to Ben to deal with the immediate aftermath of what Beauregard assumed had occurred.

He reached over and shook Bret's knee. "Bret, boy, wake up. Time to go back home."

"Just a few more minutes, Uncle Ben. Then I promise . . . . . . "

"Bret, you don't hafta go to school. But we do hafta go home. Yer Pappy's worried about ya."

His nephew's eyes slowly opened, but it took almost a full minute before he saw the recognition in them. Then they got even blacker than they already were, if that was even possible. "Ben, what . . . . ? Where are we?"

"Don't you remember, boy? You grew up here."

Bret sat up, swinging his legs over the bed and onto the floor, before looking back up at his Uncle. "I had such a headache . . . . . I just laid down for a few minutes to try and . . . . . " and Ben knew that Bret remembered what had caused the headache. "Oh. Guess I've been here a while, huh?"

Ben nodded. "You got every right. Althea and Simon came to the house lookin' for ya."

"Oh. So you know?"

"Yep. Tough break, boy. C'mon, let's go home. Ya got a father gettin' all worked up waitin' for ya. Nothin' much ya can do about it, anyway. What's done is done."

Bret stood up then. "I guess you're right. I could use a drink."

Ben shook his head but wrapped his arm around his nephew's shoulders. "Between you an me, so could I. Let's go get some coffee instead."


	33. Travelin' Man

Chapter 33 – Travelin' Man

Beauregard met them at the front door. "You alright, son?"

Bret chuckled. "Just fine, Pappy. Go ahead and say it."

"I'm sorry, boy. You deserved better than that."

That wasn't what Bret expected to hear, but it was better than what he'd anticipated. "Yeah, I did."

"They were here lookin' for ya." Pappy watched his firstborn, not knowing what to expect. Something other than the calm man that stood in front of him?

"Not surprised. I was . . . . . rather in a hurry when I left."

"Get that slicker off. You too, Ben. Both of ya, get dry clothes on. One case of pneumonia in this house is enough. Specially since we ain't got a doctor no more."

Bret chuckled again. If the whole situation hadn't been so sad, it would be even funnier. "Better not get sick anytime soon. Hear that, Lily Mae? You were right all along." He could see Lily's eyes, and they were full of tears. "Aw, Lily, I'm sorry. It isn't your fault. Don't cry, honey," and he enveloped her in a bear hug. "C'mon, now, ya don't see me cryin', do ya? It's all for the best. She found herself one that'll marry her. Stop, now, I gotta go change clothes. You alright?"

Lily shook her head. "Yeah. I sure regret the day I ever let her in this house, I'll tell ya. You go on, get those clothes off. There's dry ones laid out on your . . . . on the bed. You too, Mr. Ben. There's been enough sick in this house, I'm not takin' care a any more!"

"That's our Lily!" and Bret gave her the biggest smile he could manage, then started up the stairs. Down the hall, back to their . . . . his room, he corrected himself. He turned the corner into the room and closed the door behind him. He heard Ben's door close and knew he was safe, and the façade cracked. One lone sob escaped his throat before he stifled the rest, determined not to shed any tears over what could have been. He was so close . . . . . he'd been toying with the thought of marriage for days, although he'd said it out loud to no one, thank God. Wouldn't that have been something? "Thanks, Bret, for asking me to marry you, but I'm in love with Simon. Sorry, no."

That was too much, even for him, and he gasped out a breath and collapsed on the bed. When he was a small boy he'd learned to cry into his pillow without making any noise and disturbing momma, and that's what he did now. There went his resolve not to let it get to him. What was it Pappy always said? "Don't cry over spilt milk, it coulda been whiskey." Now if he could only convince himself that was true.

He was hurt, and in pain, and miserable as all get-out. He'd given her his heart, something he did only with great difficulty, and she'd basically handed it back to him, saying, "No, thank you." He recognized the fact that this wouldn't kill him; though right now he wished it would. It wasn't just being tossed aside for someone else, someone who'd been considered a trusted friend. It was the manner in which it was done.

He got up from the bed, determined to be finished with all this. He had no idea that his father stood outside his door, waiting, and wanting to do anything that he could to ease his boy's pain. He knew the agony that Bart must have gone through when he lost Caroline; even though this wasn't the same thing, it was as close as Bret had ever come. When there was no noise, no sound of anything happening inside the room, Beauregard finally walked slowly back down the hall, and then the stairs, and went to sit in front of the fireplace. Within a few minutes Ben entered the room, followed by Lily Mae with a full pot of coffee and four cups. Beau raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Lily was always welcome anywhere in the house, but rarely did she join them when they were drinking coffee by the fire.

She saw the movement by Beau and nodded. "Thought maybe I could help if'n I was here."

"Good move, Lily Mae. I'm sure Bret'll appreciate it."

"I do, Miss Lily, more than you know. I should have known you were the only true love of my life," the man in question announced as he made his way into the room. Two more chairs had been pulled up in front of the fire, and lap blankets were passed around the room to help ward off the chill.

Lily Mae handed out cups and poured. All four of them sat quietly, sipping coffee, until Bret finally broke the silence. "Lily Mae, why couldn't she just tell me? Why'd I have to find out that way?"

"Maybe she was gonna tell you. Somethin' like that's not easy – you don't just waltz in an go, "Hi, I know I was in love with you, but I'm not anymore and I've found someone else." She probably felt sorry, an guilty, an God-knows-what-else. An you sure wouldn'ta made it easy for her."

"Coulda found a better way," Pappy announced, and before Lily could tell Beau to keep his pronouncements to himself, Bret reached over and patted his father's arm.

"Maybe it's not her fault," he offered, and three heads nodded. He thought back to the cattle drive, and how the two of them could hardly keep their hands off each other. Maybe he should have listened to Pappy and taken it a whole lot slower than he did.

"Oh, Bret, I almost forgot. Ned Southern brought this over for you today." Ben pulled the telegram out of his pocket and handed it to his nephew. Bret tore it open and a dark cloud quickly settled across his face.

"What is it, son?" Pappy asked, and Bret handed it to him.

The telegram read: _'Reward. Outlaws. Fayetteville. Jamison.'_

"Is this in some sorta code?" Pappy asked.

"Well, kinda. He turned the money stolen from the bank over to the posse for the reward, but the bank robbers are still after him. He wants me to meet him in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Oh, and it's from Bart."

"How do you get all that from four words?" Ben asked.

"We been doin' this so long we know what the other one means. Any time a rewards mentioned it means we're waitin' for one. Now the only reason he'd be waitin' for a reward is if he turned the money over to the posse. Outlaws tells me he's still got the bank robbers on his tail. Fayetteville's gotta be Arkansas. He started out in Shreveport. And Jamison – "

"His middle name," finished Ben.

"Right."

"So, are you gonna go to Fayetteville?" Pappy questioned.

"Have to," Bret answered. "He needs help. He wouldn't a told me where to meet him if he didn't. Sure lets Althea and Simon off the hook, don't it?" He shook his head. "Seems not quite fair."

"How much did you leave at Althea's?" Ben asked.

"Not too much. Some things there I need, though."

"I'll go get your belongin's in the mornin'," Lily Mae volunteered. "That way you don't hafta see 'er. And I can have a talk with 'er."

"Careful, Lily Mae," Bret chuckled. "Your mama bear claws are showin'."

"Hmmpf," came the answer. "I'm entitled."

Bret leaned over and kissed Lily on the cheek. "Yes, ma'am. You are. Still . . . . . go easy, would ya? It ain't been an easy year for her, either."

"I'd ask ya if ya hafta go, but I already heard that tone In yer voice. Be careful, would ya, son? And get him outta whatever he's in, would ya?" Pappy's turn to reach over and pat Bret on the arm. "I'm kinda fond a you an yer brother. I'd like to keep both of ya."

TBC


	34. I Can See Clearly Now, the Rain Has Gone

Chapter 34 – I Can See Clearly Now, the Rain Has Gone

The rain was over; it was a bright, sunny day. Althea was awake when she heard the wagon pull up outside. She'd just started the coffee and knew she was going to need it; she'd been up all night talking to Simon; discussing what the next step was. Both agreed that nothing could go any further until they spoke to Bret and tried to explain. Not that she expected to get much peace or comfort from it, but she was insistent that they try.

She knew it couldn't be Bret, and if it was a Maverick, they would have ridden a horse. So the odds were it was Lily Mae. Althea steeled herself for a nasty confrontation. She knew how much Lily Mae loved 'her boys,' all three of them, and God forbid you did something destructive to one of them.

She opened the door before Lily could knock. "Morning, Lily Mae. I just made coffee, would you like some?"

"No, thank you, Althea. I've come to collect the rest of Bret's things."

"Certainly. I was going to bring them over later today."

Lily Mae sniffed. "He's leavin' as soon as I get back."

"Leaving? Where's he going?" Althea was startled. Was he running away?

"Not that it's any a yer concern, but he's goin' to meet Mr. B."

"Oh . . . . . I was hoping to talk to him. I have some explaining to do."

"You got more than some explainin' to do, Missy."

Althea looked upset and unhappy. "Please sit down and have a cup of coffee with me, Lily. I want you to know some things."

"Alright. Ya got five minutes."

"Good enough. Sit, please. I'll get the coffee." She went into the kitchen and was back in just moments with two cups. Lily Mae had deigned to sit on the sofa, and Althea sat next to her.

"I loved Bret. I still love Bret. He's wild, and passionate, and funny, and perfect – for someone else, not me. I want to be married, and have children, and that's not for Bret. He needs . . . . . .somebody that's not me. I love Simon, too, and he wants the same things I want. We never even kissed before last night, and what we did was wrong, and we both know it. And we're both sorry. Can you tell Bret that?"

Lily Mae nodded. "I can. If he wants to hear it."

Althea made up her mind, there and then. "I'm going back with you."

"Still up to him if he wants to talk to you."

"I understand that. Just let me saddle my horse. Bret's clothes are all out on the bed in that room." Althea pointed to her bedroom. "I'll be ready when you are."

Just as Lily finished moving Bret's clothes out to the wagon, Althea rode up on her horse. It was a silent procession back to the mansion, and Beauregard was standing at the upstairs window looking out when they arrived at the front porch. He hurried down to Bret's room, where he was just finishing his packing. "Lily Mae's back. Althea's with her. Do you want me to send her away?"

Bret looked up and thought for a minute. "Nope. I better talk to her. Thanks anyway, Pappy." He sighed as he strapped on his gun belt and checked his gun. "I'm comin'."

Pappy led the way down the stairs and Bret followed him. Beauregard went into the front room and took a seat by the window, determined to stand guard over his son just in case. Lily left the wagon out front and went inside to give the two ex-lovers privacy.

"Hello, Althea." Bret was the first to break the silence.

"Bret. I . . . . . I want you to know that I really did love you. I still do."

He nodded his head. "I know. I love you, too. But that's not the problem, is it, Althea?"

"No, it isn't. You need . . . . . . you need somebody, but not me. I need marriage, and children, and a husband that leaves in the morning and comes home at night, not the other way around. Simon and I, we didn't intend . . . . . . it wasn't planned, Bret. We talked last night. We wanted to tell you before it went any further and we . . . . we just got carried away. I'd do anything to take it back, Bret. I never wanted you to be hurt. Simon's asked me to marry him, and I've accepted. We hope . . . . . we hope someday you'll forgive us, and understand. Please know that, wherever you go."

Bret had been sitting in one of the rocking chairs while she talked to him. Now he stood, and offered her his hand. "I do understand, Thea. I understand a lot more than you know. You and Simon will make a good marriage. I hope the two of you can be happy together. As for me – there's only one thing I want you to do. And it's real simple. Forget about me. I've got my own road to follow, and I can't change. Forget about me." He kissed the back of her hand and let go, then turned and walked into the house. Slowly, softly the door closed, and she mounted her horse and rode away.

He watched her go down the road until he couldn't see her anymore, then sighed and turned away from the window. Pappy was right behind him. "Well played, son."

"I meant what I said to her, Pappy."

Beauregard stepped aside and let Bret go back out to the wagon and bring in the things Lily Mae had picked up for him. Everything fit neatly into his suitcase and he closed and locked it, then carried it back downstairs. "Ready to go when you are, Pappy."

They walked out to the barn and Bret hitched the horse up to the buggy, then loaded his suitcases into it. After Pappy had climbed inside, Bret did too and drove out of the barn and down the road towards town. Most of the journey was passed in silence, which Bret was grateful for. As calm and collected as he'd appeared to Althea, inside his stomach was churning. His emotions were all over the place, and he would be glad when he boarded the stage and got started. He was worried about Bart, and he had every right to be.

By the time they reached Little Bend the stage for Fort Worth and Fayetteville was already loading luggage. Bret quickly bought a ticket and handed up his suitcases, then turned back to his father, still sitting in the buggy. "Pappy - "

"I know, son. I love you too. I'm sorry for everything that happened. Go find that wayward brother a yours, would ya? I wanna see both my sons again here in Little Bend. Or wherever else I may decide to go." He winked at Bret. Oh dear, what was Pappy up to now?

"Take care a yourself, Pappy. I'll send ya a wire when I get my hands on him." He boarded the stage; there were two other men and an older woman. He tipped his hat to her "Ma'am."

"Hmmpf," she sniffed. "At least there's one gentleman in the group."

' _Oh dear,'_ he thought, _'this is gonna be a long trip. Hang on Brother Bart. I'm comin'.'_

The End


End file.
